Dragon Age: Jack Effect
by RahXephon
Summary: Jack ended up in Ferelden after the suicide mission. Andraste, dragons or darkspawn, she didn't give an F-word. All she cared was getting her due and getting back to Citadel space, and she would not let anyone get in her way. If she had to subjugate this backwater world in order to get off this mudball, then she'd burn it all. Dragon Age/Mass Effect, indoctrination.
1. What the fuck?

April 8, 2010  
Revised: July 24, 2011  
By RahXephon [847246]

**Author's Notes:** I am a massive BioWare fan. I've played all their computer games from Neverwinter Nights on. Having recently finished Dragon Age and Mass Effect 2, the desire to write a fic in either world appealed greatly to me. Ideally, I would want write a crossover featuring both elements. After some weeks of stewing plot ideas, I finally came up with this. Despite the unusual premise, this is a serious non-crack fic that will not follow the canon events of Dragon Age to the letter. I really want to illustrate the sides to life in Ferelden and Thedas away from the epic adventure of the remaining two Grey Wardens. There are hundreds of other fics that are already like that, so I have no desire to duplicate a beaten down path, but present some actual added value that will enrich your collective reading experience.

**Summary: **Jack ended up in Thedas after the suicide mission. Andraste, dragons or darkspawn, Jack didn't give an f-word. All she cared was getting her due and getting back to Citadel space, and she would not let anyone get in her way. Dragon Age/Mass Effect crossover.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or am in any way affiliated with BioWare, Electronic Arts, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Awakening, Dragon Age 2, Mass Effect or Mass Effect 2. I do not earn any commercial income from this work of fiction.

* * *

_**Dragon Age: Jack Effect**_

_What the fuck?_

* * *

The ornate double doors slammed shut with a crack.

"Do not return until you have dealt with the Ashes!" Someone shouted from the other side.

Jack picked herself up from the dusty floor and shook the snow and dirt from her borrowed robes. The garments were too tacky and clingy. Her thin leather straps were much more liberating. It was always fun to see others squirming at her unusual taste in clothing, though this habit had bit her in the ass eventually.

She couldn't really remember how she ended up in this dirty, smelly, cold – and most of all – primitive world. Those damned nut jobs waiting outside had never heard of mass effect, eezo or even decent lighting. She had seen enough holovids to know there were fanatics out there who purposely lived in backward medieval conditions. Maybe the locals didn't even know they could have hot showers and unlimited porn. There were plenty of twisted billionaires in the universe with too much time on their hands who could have orchestrated this sick playground. Perhaps this was all just a planet-wide reality program, mere fantasy entertainment for some eager rich boys craving to see some authentic combat.

Or not. Perhaps this was different. Perhaps this was actually real, and the stars in the sky wasn't the Milky Way, or even her reality for that matter.

"Fuck this."

She didn't crave an explanation for every stupid little phenomenon like Mordin. Better to be like Grunt and simply blast your way out of any trouble. Not that it had gone very well against Kolgrim and those crazy cultists.

Jack remembered the ordeal clearly. They had just set the overload in motion, and as she attempted to flee the Collector Base with Shepard, they encountered some weird alien tech blocking their path back to the ship. Instead of finding a way around the obstruction, Jack offered to blast a biotic hole clean through the ancient device. Bad idea. The moment her biotic fist impacted the strange, rust-colored device, the thing set into motion as ancient whirring components flared to life. The bald biotic barely had any time to contemplate the reaction before she felt the familiar sickening crunch of a mass effect jump envelop her shape.

Jumping right out of the frying pan and straight into the fire.

Well, more like ice for that matter. Howling cold winds buffeted her almost naked attire, shocking her entire system before she was even able to process her new environment. By the time she snapped out of her daze, she was almost well on her way to becoming a frozen doll. With nothing but mountains and snow around her, she desperately sought for shelter. Fortunately, only five minutes of frantic searching was enough to find the entrance of a small cozy-looking cave. To be honest, it looked a bit creepy and the stench it emanated was worse than a Batarian dump. What choice did she have though?

She should have known it wasn't an ordinary cave. She was barely ten minutes inside, creeping around in case any mercenaries were hiding out. It was kind of eerie that she didn't need to generate a glow in order to navigate the craggy tunnel. Cracks through the ceiling washed an ever-present glow of blue, which unfortunately brought in more cold as well. While her biotic barrier couldn't block out the cold, the exercise at least generated kept her muscles warm and busy.

When she finally reached into a larger cavern, she grew relieved as steam from some nearby geysers blanketed her bare frame. She couldn't help but sigh in relief.

What a big fucking mistake. Scores of people sitting at what looked like an extremely bloody feast were gaping their mouths at her entrance. She barely had any time to become surprised at their ancient gothic-looking armor and robes before some red-armored guy who badly needed a shave began to shout an alarm.

"Intruder!"

The heavily-armored warriors instantly brought out wicked-looking axes and swords, while the gay robed people whipped out big sticks and began to glow ominously. Thinking they were calling out biotic powers, Jack didn't hesitate and whipped out her Tempest Submachine Gun to rain hell on them. She was surprised as her bullets tore right through them, unhindered by any biotic barrier of any sort. She had culled about half of the robed men before they finally called up a barrier, though to Jack's senses it didn't seem to involve any biotic powers at all. What strange tech were they wielding?

There was no time to ponder, for the armored men were almost upon her. While they looked almost pathetic with their dress-up weapons, those slow-moving chunks of metal would be able to pass right through her biotic barrier.

Jack grinned. No matter what weird shit she ended up in, she lived to fight. It was time to show these fuckers her might.

Pouring all her rage in her arm, she unleashed with a vengeance towards the armored warriors. "_Shockwave!_"

Seeing all those heavy men tossed aside like ragdolls from her biotic eruptions caused her to howl in vicious laughter. An eager grin settled on her mouth as she turned back to the frantic casters. One grey-haired priestly figure with an impressive beard was snarling right back at her as he formed a yellow ball in his hands.

"Eat this you heretic! _Fireball!_"

And his fiery projectile travelled straight towards her like a homing missile despite her attempts to dodge. Her eyes widened only a fraction of a second before throwing a singularity in front of her, just in time for it to suck away the fire and leaving it floating in front of her. She manipulated her flaming singularity to home right into the priest, who managed to throw up his own barrier in time.

By then, some of the warriors who evaded her shockwave had reached her and began to swing their ugly blades at her small unarmed form. She threw a hasty biotic throw to push the reavers out range before whipping out her trusty Eviscerator Shotgun.

_BOOM! Chk-chk._

_BOOM! Chk-chk._

The heavy pellets – meant tear through even the hardiest Krogan Battlemaster armor – made short work of chainmail and scale. She riddled the unending sea of opposition with metal, killing some outright, but leaving most agonizing on the ground with crippling wounds. She threw in a couple of biotic powers for good measure, though the mages seemed somewhat resistant to her efforts. Well, if they thought they could stop ol' Jack, they were in for a surprise. She paused briefly to concentrate her efforts on one of her more difficult abilities. Her senses reached out into her submachine gun, carefully avoiding the mass effect field generator, and began to generate tiny warp fields around her ammo. Grinning viciously, she stowed away her shotgun and used both her hands to steady her other weapon.

"Let's see how you fare with this!"

She unleashed a single burst of six yellowish projectiles at a confident shielded mage. The smugness on his face disappeared as the first three bullets destabilized his shield, leaving the way for the rest of her burst to punch through his face. Blood exploded from his head like a fountain, frightening the other skirt-wearing men to dive behind some obstacles, frustrating Jack's aim. Spitting in disgust, she turned away and fought through a dozen more brave soldiers, their screams only marginally satisfying her battle lust.

"Is this all you've got! Give me more! Come on you pussies!"

More did come, but not in the shape she expected. Her almost pre-natural instincts were shouting danger. Not one to ignore her own gut, she dove aside just in time to avoid a crashing beast. The dust and rubble disoriented her slightly, but she came away with nothing but a few scrapes and bruises. She rolled back up and trained her gun on the thing that attempted to squish her like a bug.

The serpentine shape that emerged from the crater sent chills through her bare spine. The creature, some cow-sized lizard, bared menacingly at Jack with its razor teeth. Two other lizards and a host of smaller dog-sized critters appeared at its side, ready to strike. Their ugly, spiky exterior and short stubby wing-like protrusions reminded her of a dragon, as ridiculous as it sounded. Nevertheless, they were in her way, and as long as they lived, they needed to die.

Making the first move, she fired her entire clip, expecting to kill the beast quickly. Surprisingly, her warp ammo barely penetrated the drake's tough exterior, and what bullets did manage to go through only did superficial damage. The lead drake howled more in anger than pain, and all three dragons pounced right at her. Feeling fear for the first time since she came onto the sight of the unfinished Reaper, Jack clenched her fist and burst out her full biotic potential, blasting everything around her with a biotic shock.

The runty dragonlings were tossed aside like nothing, but the drakes were barely buffeted by her strength. Widening her eyes, she unconsciously stepped back as the beasts fanned out to surround her before pouncing in for the kill. Acting quickly, she dropped her useless submachine gun and whipped out her shotgun to blast one creature right in the face, earning a delicious howl as its eyes were punctured through. She threw aside the dragon on her left as her biotic fist punched aside its chest, cracking several bones and spurting buckets of blood.

Then, the remaining drake crunched her to the ground, pressing down their weight on her defenseless frame. Plenty of bones and ribs had cracked right on impact, leaving her unable to resist. Her weak biotic barrier was useless against the vicious swipes. Scores of other tiny dragons scampered over to tear at her flesh or claw in her skin, eliciting a desperate hoarse cry from her failing voice. After being experimented on by Cerberus, becoming a pirate and cultist, crashing a space station into the moon and participating in the most important suicide mission in the galaxy, she couldn't believe she would die from a horde of mindless beasts.

"AAARGGGHHH!"

"Stop! In the name of Andraste the Risen, stop!"

Jack barely felt the retreat. Her flesh was still burning from the multitude of cuts and bruises. Her open wounds leaked out a voracious amount of blood which soaked the cool stone floor. The wounded biotic twitched her head aside as she tried to blink away the blood engulfing her eyes.

A pair of footsteps approached.

The defeated woman vaguely observed the approaching pair of greaves. They were red, like the rest of the armored warrior's attire. The bearded man knelt gently before the pathetic sight she must have been. His eyes, previously full of flaming fervor, were now tinged with a touch of pity. How pathetic.

"Hnghh.." She coughed, wishing to spit in his face but failing miserably. "Fuck.. you.. Hc.h.. to hell.."

The bearded man shook his head. "What a strange heretic you are to have come here alone. Are you another one of those foolish knights sent to retrieve the Ashes? Or a rival intent on sabotage?"

"F… you.."

Then she blacked out.

* * *

Frankly, she didn't expect to wake up. Jack was sure those primitive bastards would take revenge on her for all their fallen comrades. By all rights, she should have been dead already. That she was not was a sign of some hope. She stealthily opened her eyes, absorbing her surroundings. She was lying on a decrepit cot that stank of sweat and manure. Her hands and feet were bound by manacles, which were themselves attached to the large metal rings fixed to the walls. The room was dark, dank and utterly void of modern technology. Strange gothic architecture lined the walls and crevices, and the only source of lighting were a pair of odd-looking wooden torches. Torches! Ha! What kind of sick nightmare did she end up in?

Jack squirmed her way out of the thin woolen blanket to see she was clad in nondescript white clothing. Her straps and skirt were gone. Looking back at all the devastation she went through her lack of straps wasn't so surprising. She explored some more as best she could in her bound state to find out all her bones and flesh were healed. In fact, the only scars she had were her old ones. That confirmed her suspicion that despite these crazy people's equipment, they must have had a secret stash of medi-gel on hand to patch her up. Some modern comforts were too valuable to surrender.

But why waste the valuable material on her body?

'_Gosh I'm stupid. To interrogate me of course._'

And perhaps rape her a few times before throwing her out for food to their pet dragons. Well, if that was how they were going to play, then they'd sorely underestimated her strength. Bringing her back to life on the brink of oblivion would be the last mistake these weird people would make.

Her biotic warp shredded the manacles that held her chained. She spent only seconds rubbing her raw wrists before turning to the door. The strange metallic construction glowed with some unknown technology. Was it holographic? There were certainly no mass effect fields involved, or she would have detected the familiar sensation long ago. Now that she thought about it, she had never detected the presence of any mass effect fields or even element zero for that matter even as the robed people displayed their biotic powers. Were their power actually biotic in nature, or just a technological substitute? Certainly, the priestly figure's fireball was nothing like she could achieve with her own powers, but easily copied if you were handy with some gadgets.

"Arghh, who cares."

She generated a small ball of intense warp. It wasn't as big as she would have liked, but she hadn't eaten anything since her arrival in this backward world. Her stomach was growling and her body was straining with accomplishing even this feat. When the ball of warp looked to be sufficient, she threw it at the glowing door, expecting it to overload and fizzle out the field generator.

What she didn't expect was a runaway chain reaction that led to a massive explosion that crushed her back into the wall. Feet-sized chunks of rocks smashed against her body, though fortunately her hastily erected barrier absorbed most of the lethal impacts. Her body collapsed onto the floor as frantic shouts erupted beyond the massive hole she made. With some effort she managed to shrug off her daze and pick herself off the ground.

As she exited her cell, she realized she wasn't in some cave but rather some underground structure. She didn't have time to contemplate anything else as guards poured into the room. Spotting none of her guns, she readied her biotics for another go. Her fist clenched in bright blue as she readied another shockwave. The men's eyes widened as they recognized what she was about to do, and hastened their charge in an attempt to stop her before she was ready.

"Stop!"

The shout, emanating from the corridor, instantly froze the unruly warriors in their steps. Jack was half-tempted to unleash her shockwave anyway, but seeing as she was low on energy, decided to stay her hand to see what was going on. She had no desire to face those lizards again without her weapons and after a good meal.

Unsurprisingly, the same red-clad bearded fellow reappeared, though this time he held up his gauntleted palms in a placating gesture. Jack wasn't stupid enough to let down her guard amongst these vipers. Instead, she surrounded herself in glowing blue as she brought her biotic barrier to the front. No surprises this time.

"Stand down, milady. We mean you no harm."

The statement pissed her off. "No harm? Yeah right, that's why you ganged up on me the instant I show up. You guys didn't even let me ask what the hell is going on. Is this how you treat all your guests?"

The man frowned only briefly before assuming a diplomatic stance. "We have had many intruders in the past. We were not certain you were one of the many heretics searching for the Sacred Ashes. We still aren't."

"Look," She pointed out, getting more pissed by the minute. "I don't know what the fuck the Ashes are, or what you crazy nut jobs are doing. I just ended up in this god-forsaken dump of a planet after a miniature Mass Relay accident. I'm not interested in you guys or your cosplay. Just point me to the nearest space station. If not, I'll just find it over your dead bodies."

Some of the gathered men looked tense. They flexed their limbs and tightened their grips on their weapons, but the bearded leader stayed motionless.

"Mass Relay? Cosplay? Space Station? I know not these terms."

"Oh c'mon, whatever sick roleplay you guys are about, I know you guys have some hidden technology. How else did you heal my wounds besides with medi-gel?"

The man refused to budge, though his frown deepened. "Medi-gel? I know not what it is you are speaking of, but we have used health poultices and healing spells to mend your rather severe injuries."

Great. Medieval fantasy. Jack rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. Just let me go, or I'll make you."

After a brief pause, the man shook his head. As she began to snarl, the man hastily began to explain himself. "Wait wait wait! We are sincere in our desire to see no further bloodshed. The least you can do after having taken care of you is to listen to our offer."

"Why would you want to talk to me after I killed some of your men?" She frowned. What would make these nut jobs want to keep her alive despite the toll she had wrecked upon their cozy club?

Another man entered the room. It was the priestly figure this time. His fur-clad shoulders were instantly recognizable. The older man stroked his beard in some fascination at the sight of her biotic glow.

"By Andraste, so it is true. The taint of the Fade is absent in your being. What manner of witch are you?"

"Don't call me a bitch you homo!"

"Oh, and such a fierce temper as well, marvelous." The man turned to the black-bearded man and nodded briefly. The younger leader whistled a signal which made the other soldiers clear out of the room, some more reluctant than others.

Jack supposed it was a gesture of goodwill, though she didn't seriously entertain she could get away from this madhouse without a fight. Most mercenary outfits treated their goons like shit, but if any of them were killed, they'd rise up to avenge their comrades. Not that she was sure these were mercenaries instead of roleplay hobbyists, but she didn't believe for a moment that they treated their friends' deaths so casually.

"Very well. You leave me no choice. Do as we say or we will sic a horde of wyverns on you so great, there will be nothing left but scraps of skin by the time they are done with you."

At least they revealed their true nature now. "Fine. I'll play along for now."

"Good."

The two men led her out the door and through the corridors of the huge structure. A squad of menacing warriors surrounded Jack. Their fear was palpable, but it also made them twitchy. She spared only a fleeting amount of attention towards the admittedly amazing sights. The central hall especially looked to be a cathedral drenched in snow. They wandered deeper into the structure, passing many armored or robed figures, all throwing mildly curious glances at the procession. They eventually lowered into some stairs and went past few more corridors before they ended up in the same cave complex she had stumbled in before. Curious juvenile dragons were skittering along the walls, their serpentine eyes gazing openly at Jack's unfamiliar presence. Though they were nothing but beasts, the dragonlings seemed oddly cunning in their gazes. She shuddered a little as she passed their predatory gazes.

They ended up in a large cavern filled with stalagmites and bubbling springs. The smell of sulfur and shit was stronger here. Jack couldn't help but crumple her nose at the sight of half-eaten bones. Several of the larger drakes were resting lazily about, their casualness a contrast to their earlier vicious nature. The creatures loomed over her like a dangling sword, ready to chop off her head at the instant she would do something wrong.

"Okay, enough with the silent tour. Tell me what you want already."

Annoyed, the younger leader stopped in his tracks and turned around to face his prisoner. "As you wish. Explanations are probably in order now. Let me introduce myself. I am Father Kolgrim. I lead the Disciples of Andraste, a body of faithful people who dedicate themselves in Her worship." He gestured at the older man besides him. "And he is Reverent Father Eirik, who preaches the will of Andraste to our flock. Together we preserve the ancient order of Andraste and keep its existence secret from the voracious, narrow-minded public."

In other words, a cult. Jack had first-hand experience with religious bullshit. She kept her hairdo bald as a memento.

"Jack. Pleasure to meet you." She spoke in a dismissive tone. "So what the hell do you want with me? I doubt you spared my life simply to convert me to your cause."

"You have a suspicious mind, young lady, but you are correct in that we require a service from you."

Kolgrim clasped his hands behind his back and sent a steely glare through Jack's eyes. Though she knew it held no power over her, she nevertheless felt a tiny prickle just out of the range of her biotic senses. What the hell was this guy up to? The man nodded in apparent satisfaction. "Not a mage, yet you wield powers beyond what is possible. You are suitable."

"Suitable? For what?" Hopefully not as a stew for the lizards lurking around the cavern. "And who the fuck is this Andraste you guys keep worshipping about?"

The leader walked around the giant cavern, reining in his temper at Jack's insults and taking measured steps as he explained himself. "Our order has guarded the ancient ashes of the prophetess Andraste for eons, keeping her remains safe from both the mighty Tevinter Imperium and the ignorant Ferelden Kingdom. Through our utmost dedication, Andraste has overcome death itself and has returned to her faithful in a form more radiant than even you can imagine!"

Jack was not impressed. "And you need me why?"

Kolgrim looked with savage interest at her face. "Tell me truthfully why it is you have desecrated our temple and slaughtered our young."

"I told you already! I just looked for a cave to get away from the snow! I'm not interested in your little crazy band or your Andraste."

"Hmmm.. very well.." The man actually seemed to believe her as he looked into her eyes with genuine interest. "And what is it that you desire? You spoke of a 'station' of some sort."

"Space station. You know, some place where I can find a shuttle out of this fucked up planet."

"I know not what you speak of with this 'space station'. Do you, Father Eirik?"

"I can wager a guess." The older and smoother man replied. "She seeks to leave this plane of existence. Perhaps she is referring to the Fade, the empty existence beyond the sky where naught but spirits and demons reside."

"Yes! That's it! Beyond the skies above us! Space!" Finally these dimwits got it. The mention of spirits and demons was slightly disconcerting, but she dismissed the talk as part of their cult mythos. "Whatever you need doing, I'll do it, as long as I get a way out of this planet."

"Very well." Kolgrim nodded. "So you agree to whatever task we issue to you, in exchange for a passage out of this plane? Perhaps through Andraste's mercy, her greatest enemy will become her greatest champion. The deaths that you have ensued will not be for naught, their sacrifice a trifle compared to the boon you may be able to provide."

The self-serving smirk on Kolgrim's face made Jack suspicious. "Wait a minute.. tell me first what you guys are saddling me up with. I'm not going to agree to something impossible."

"That is… a reasonable request." The man stepped closer to Jack, his stench making her cringe even more. "This temple used to guard the Urn of Sacred Ashes before Andraste has risen from mortality and revealed herself before us. But however great her glory, she is shackled to her past by the continued existence by those very same ashes. They are a remnant of her past reincarnation, and she cannot move to a new form as long as they exist in this plane. The relic is guarded by an immortal Guardian who refuses to accept the truth of the risen lady. The holy Andraste wishes us to reclaim her Ashes for her, but the Guardian has always stopped us."

"So you need an outsider to do your dirty work?" Jack interjected, already bored from the mindless praises to this Andraste figure.

The leader nodded firmly. "That is where you come in. The task is simple: I will provide you a vial of the holy Andraste's blood. Take it into the Inner Sanctum empty the contents of the vial into the urn which holds the Ashes."

His voice picked up in excitement and fervor. "Whatever magic was held in the ashes will be undone, and our great lady will be freed from the shackles of her past life! Once that is done, you will have earned your place as our honored sister and be allowed to partake in the lifeblood of Andraste reborn."

"Whatevs." She muttered, not impressed at all. "I don't want to be your 'honored sister', and I sure as hell don't want to drink anyone's blood. I just want a ticket out of this terrible planet."

"It can be yours in exchange for a trivial task: a vial of blood emptied into the urn, followed by a single swallow of our Lady's blood. That is all I ask."

Trivial her ass. If hundreds of cultists couldn't do it, then it was anything but trivial. Still, she did not relish being eaten alive by those menacing drakes, and Kolgrim looked a little too much like the sort to lie in her face. Cult leaders were always devious sorts of fellows who promised everything but delivered nothing. She had to play it smart, find out some kind of weakness to ensure her safe passage out of this stupid temple, and preferably, this entire planet altogether.

"Right, I'll do it."

Kolgrim reached around a pouch and put it into Jack's hand. "Take this then, the blood of our Lady the Dragon. You know what you must do."

Dragon blood? Andraste? Jack's head whipped around the drakes surrounding this room. These nut jobs were worshipping an actual _dragon_? Man, these guys must have spent a fortune genetically engineering such a species! What an utter waste of time!

"Good. Now I shall beseech the holy Andraste to let you pass safely into the Inner Sanctum."

And without another word, the cult leader turned and left for an exit to the side of the cave. The menacing band of soldiers prodded her to move, which she did reluctantly. The only care she received was a woolen cloak handed by the Reverent Father. She needed it badly as they all stepped outside where the shivering cold reigned supreme. Kolgrim led them through an almost collapsed bridge and onto a small plateau high up at the top of the mountain. The breathtaking view of the outside world seemed more gentle now that the storm was over. Snow-capped mountaintops lined every direction, and there was even a bird in the sky.

Wait, birds weren't that large.

The giant eldritch shape of a gigantic flying dragon descended from the mists. Its terrible form glided almost majestically downwards with the spread of its wings. The creature was inhuman in every sense. Its pale purple coloring, horned neck and elongated snout all fit into its role as a pure apex predator. The creature swung around once before reducing its speed to land with incredible force on a cliff, the very impact causing ripples beneath the earth.

Then it noticed the puny mortals standing beneath her. The creature seemed to stare right at Jack as it leaned open its fearsome jaw to cry out a wordless challenge. Only after its breath had been exhausted had the dragon settled in on its cozy perch.

The guards prodded Jack forward yet again as the group approached a narrow path between two cliffs. She could just see a great church-like front at the end that must have been the entrance of the Inner Sanctum. As they neared the cliffs, the guards began to peel away, leaving only Kolgrim and herself to walk through the crevice. She took only a few steps forward before she was startled by the dragon, which suddenly landing in front of them to block their path. The great beast roared aggressively and breathed orange flame from its jaw.

Kolgrim stepped forward and spread his arms protectively over Jack. "Holy Andraste! Great Andraste! I pray you, stay your wrath!"

As her escort continued to plea at the dragon, Jack could only watched in dumbfound awe as the man prostated himself before his Goddess, lowering himself to his knees and raising his hands in devotion. "I bring you your champion, who will fall upon your enemies as a cleansing flame, paving the way for your glory!"

The dragon extended its neck towards the crazed cultist, almost touching him, and growled menacingly at him. "O, beloved Andraste! O, holy Andraste! We praise your name!"

The creature did not even indicate that it even comprehended human speech, but after it spurted another bout of flame in the sky, it retreated back up. Jack's legs wobbled at every tremor the dragon caused as it jumped between the cliff faces to reach the top. Her heart pumped vigorously as she felt she had just staved off certain death. She might have been able to smash up YMIR mechs and tear apart the insides of a prison ship, but to face such a monstrous being alone was too much even for a single biotic.

Don't misunderstand her. She loved to fight. She reveled in battle and enjoyed being at the edge of death. But that dragon, that creature, it was too frightening to even consider fighting. If even those immature drakes proved to be resistant to her biotics, how useless would they be against a mature dragon?

Kolgrim turned around and faced Jack with a look of determination. "I have spoken to the beloved Andraste. She will let you pass."

"Err right." She couldn't do anything else but shut her gaping mouth. "Can I have my guns?"

"Guns?" The man echoed, as if he was utterly unfamiliar with the concept of firearms. Jack rolled her eyes. Either these dumbasses believed in the fantasy world they were probably transplanted on by cruel aliens looking for a good holo show, or they were simply taking this acting and roleplay to a fanatic level.

"My weapons. You know, the metal things I used to shoot darts in your ugly faces."

"Oh, you mean your odd Qunari contraptions." The man ruffled something out of a bag strapped to his back and produced her firearms, which she snapped up instantly. "Remember, pour the vial into the Ashes. Andraste will know when you have succeeded. Now go forth, champion."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get it done, but be sure to hold to your end of the bargain."

With that, she stomped off in the direction of the Inner Sanctum with Kolgrim right at her heels. She clipped her submachine gun on her belt but kept her shotgun ready and loaded. There was not much heat capacity left, but if that big dragon decided to swoop down on her, she'd at least make a good attempt. As they reached the front, she noticed that the double doors were barred from the front by a thick wooden log. The crudeness of its supports marked it as a recent addition.

The man lifted up the heavy bar like it was a toothpick and pulled open the doors. He gestured for Jack to enter, which she worthlessly did. The double doors then slammed shut even before she was past, slamming her to the floor in an undignified heap. She could hear the thump of the log settling in its position, locking her into the room.

"Don't come back until you've taken care of the Ashes!"

'_Great._'

* * *

After picking herself up, she looked around to find out what she had to do. The ancient, dusty corridor was dry and dirty. At least there was enough lighting from the ancient stone torches. Did the cultists light those torches or was there someone else in the Sanctum who took care of that? There were stairs in front of her, and a lot more light at the end. Seeing nothing else, she braved the ancient steps, keeping her shotgun ready in case there were giant bats or other dangers about.

At the end of the stairway the room extended to the right. Just in front of the oval door was an armored figure who looked distinctively different from the rest of the cultists. She whipped her shotgun instantly at the man, unsure whether he was a threat or not. Was this the supposed 'immortal Guardian'?

An ethereal voice drifted in her mind. "_Step closer, young lady. I mean you no harm._"

If there was one thing Jack hated, it was someone messing with her mind.

"DON'T FUCK WITH MY HEAD!" She let her shotgun rip, blasting pellets straight at the man. The projectiles sailed straight past his shimmering form and impacted harmlessly against the door behind him. Her second volley achieved little more than chipping away some more fragments of stone. "What the fuck are you?"

Seeing her bullets having no effect, she readied a warp ball, but the figure hastily held up his hands. "Wait! It is a mistake!" He shouted, his voice still ethereal, but at least it came from outside.

Though she wanted to blast apart this man for the heck of it, she wasn't sure what he was capable of. The helmeted figure had a nasty looking warhammer strapped on his back and could be hiding much more. Jack wasn't about to risk fighting against a devious hologram. Reluctantly, she drew down her warp and pointed her shotgun to the floor. She stepped closer towards the figure, slightly uneasy with coming closer into his range. She halted two steps away from the man.

The image spoke. "I bid you welcome, pilgrim. I apologize for my intrusion. It is.. necessary for what you are about to face."

Frowning, Jack looked around, seeing nothing but a cracked floor and corners filled with cobwebs. "So it's you I have to face?"

The hologram – probably a sophisticated Virtual Intelligence – chuckled with some amusement. "No no, behind the door. And no, I am not this odd construction you refer to as a 'VI'."

"Stop reading my mind you fucker!"

The smile left the man's face. "I forgot. My apologies. Most pilgrims do not have such a strong aversion to Andraste's glory. Let me introduce myself to you, 'Jack'. I am the Guardian, the protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

"Again with the Andraste. I don't even know who the hell she is." She muttered, but then looked deviously at the VI. "So you can read my mind, right? You must know what the hell is going on with those crazed worshippers outside."

The man sighed heavily and wearily spoke, "It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting I have guarded these empty halls. For many years more I shall remain until my task is done and the Tevinter Imperium has crumbled into the sea."

"Yada yada yada. Spare me the boring history lesson."

"Let me continue. You must understand our story." The Guardian seemed to glare slightly at Jack before continuing. "Now, when my brethren and I carried Andraste from Tevinter to this sanctuary, we vowed to forever revere Her memory, and guard Her. I have watched generations of my brethren take up the mantle of their fathers. For centuries they did this, unwavering, joyful, in their appointed task."

"Is there a point?"

He didn't attempt to hide his annoyance this time. "Ahem. As I was saying, now my brethren have lost their way. They have forgotten Andraste, and their promise."

"Hmmm…" Jack still didn't know who this Andraste was, but she sounded a lot like a certain Jesus dude her previous cult had worshipped. "So that huge dragon outside, that's not your fucking Andraste?"

She received the same look from the Guardian that she received from others whenever she cursed. She smirked. This was the first time she had gotten a rise from a VI.

"The high dragon is not what the Disciples claim she is. Our real Andraste has gone to the Maker's side. She will not return. The dragon is a fearsome creature, and they must have seen her as an alternative to the absent Maker and His silent Andraste."

His next remark spoke of his damning opinion of the cultists. "A true believer would not require audacious displays of power. The dragon does not truly care for her human subjects. It does not understand their devotion, but only uses Kolgrim and the others for convenience. The ancient beast is like a demon, ensnaring her victims with promises of glory and bliss. It forces the disciples to partake in her powerful blood. They become reavers, gaining enhanced strength and endurance, as well as the latent memories of the dragon and a host of unnatural powers."

"That doesn't sound so bad." Jack remarked. While she had little trouble killing any of them, she did notice some of them were as tough as Krogans in their ability to absorb punishment. One particularly huge bear of a fellow required three shotgun bursts to put down.

"You misunderstand." The Guardian admonished. "The powers bestowed by the dragon's blood do not come without a price. They do not understand, as their forefathers did not understand, that what they gain in strength of the body, they lose in strength of the mind. Their very will and perception of the world has been insidiously warped to revolve only around the dragon. The Disciples of Andraste have therefore become but mere hollow shells."

"O-kay. Dragon is not Andraste. Blood is bad. Got it." She slipped a single around the vial of dragon blood that she carried. "What about the Ashes?"

"You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall be given an opportunity to see it, if you prove yourself worthy. Many pilgrims have sought the burned remains of Andraste for its holy healing properties. No affliction is incurable in her light."

Her eyebrows – practically the only hair she had left unshaved – shot up. "Wait a minute. I'm not here to honor your stupid prophet, and I don't intend to prove myself worthy to any of you. Surely you know what Kolgrim had set aside for me if you've read my mind." She withdrew the heavy vial of blood from her pocket. "I'm supposed to pour this into your holy ashes. Is that going to honor your dead prophet?"

The Guardian only chuckled again. "Such honesty. This only proves your suitability. Nevertheless, the protocol is clear. It is not my place to decide your worthiness. I have gleaned enough from your heart that you truly do not wish Andraste any harm. That you are not even interested in the Ashes in the slightest measure despite their power further confirms you are not a threat."

"So if it's not you who's going to 'decide my worthiness', who is?"

"The Gauntlet. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not…"

"I already told you, you fucktard, that I'm not interested in the Ashes."

But the Guardian continued in his explanation like he was programmed to. Stupid VIs. "The Gauntlet tells the true pilgrims from the false. You will undergo four tests of faith, and we shall see how your soul fares."

Jack gave up trying to explain she wasn't a pilgrim. "Let's just get this over with."

"Before you go, there is something I must ask. I see the path that led you here was not easy."

"Duh."

"There has been much suffering in your past, the suffering of your own and the suffering of many others. Your Commander Shepard had slowly earned your trust with his genuine interest in your past. He had charmed his way into your life and your affection, and even persuaded you to share his bed for one night. How did it feel to be tossed aside like sloppy seconds when you confronted him over his dalliance with Miranda? Are you forever a victim of betrayal, who swore to kill everyone who stabbed you in the back? This Shepard is a great hero, is he not? Will slaying the only person most likely to save you all from this 'Reaper' threat be worth it in comparison to the suffering you will inevitably cause? Or will you let your vengeance blind you above all else, and in doing so damn everyone else in your path to damnation?"

Her fists clenched tight, shaking in pure agony and anger as the Guardian had the gall to drench up her latest failure. Jack wanted nothing more than to pound this insolent VI into dust, but realized the futility of it all. She let out a deep breath, and faced the Guardian with a pained and guarded expression.

"Listen you fuckwit. You have no business parading over my fucking life. Yeah, I had a bad life. Boo hoo. I'm not going to cry over shoulders and sniff like a little girl, because I never was a little girl. As for what I intend to do to Shepard and his little perfect genetically engineered bitch, that is of NO business of you. So yeah, judge me all you want up in your little ivory tower, I'm not going deny I'm a killer. As for the Reapers, I'm long past caring. All of humanity and those stuck-up aliens can burn for all I care."

"Your vengeance grows deep, and your wrath against those who violated your body or trust is terrible indeed. I suppose I can draw at least some comfort in the fact that the people you have slain have mostly brought their ill-gained fate on themselves." The man looked in sympathy at Jack. "The way is open. Good luck, and may you find what you seek."

The VI then flared into brightness, blinding her for a moment. By the time she regained her vision, the damn Guardian was gone. The door ahead was open, however.

"Let's see what this shit is all about."

The next room was also empty and crumbling. It seemed to be some sort of reception hall with four stubby arches on each side. Jack almost shot a full burst when eight ghost-like figures began to appear, all lined up and beckoning her to come over to talk.

'_Great. More fucking VI's._'

Figuring this was part of the test, she warily approached the nearest one, a dark-haired lady. The VI looked to be dumber than most as she immediately began to recite a pre-programmed package.

"_Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Thought's strange sister dwells in night, is swept away by dawning light. Of what do I speak?_"

"Uuhh…"

Jeez, of all the things to throw at her, riddles was certainly not one of her strengths. She had neither the methodical mind of Mordin, the silver tongue of Shepard nor the smug bitchiness of Miranda.

She was completely at a loss here.

"Fuck it." And she pressed the trigger of her shotgun. She supposed it was a stupid thing to do, as she wasted a perfectly good slip of ammo and an eight of her heat capacity.

"_That is not of what I speak._" The shady figure replied obliviously to the attack.

The VI winked out, but before Jack could wonder whether she had failed something, a cloud of choking ash spurted out of the spot the VI had stood. Her surprise caused her to fire her shotgun again, and though most pellets seemed to go right through its insubstantial body, a few managed to impact something solid. The horrendous ashy creature shrieked in agony and lifted an ominous claw over Jack. She wouldn't let the damn thing finish the move and fired another burst straight at its ugly toothy face. The ash monster exploded in a cloud of dark dust that stained her borrowed cloak.

Coughing, she spat the dust from her mouth as she looked in distaste at the remaining seven VI's. "This is going to be a long day."

By the time she got through with her pathetic attempts to answer the riddles, she was sure she could pass off as one of the ash monsters herself. Jack had no idea why she had to fight through so many ash monsters, but the most important fact was that the door was open now. She stalked towards the corridor and noticed another shape at the end before it branched out. As she crept closer, her grip suddenly tightened on her weapon, almost crunching it with her enhanced strength.

"Shepard." She spat acidly. "What are _you_ doing here?"

The N-7 suited figure turned around, smiling charmingly like he always did in her presence. His amused tone was tinged in the same ethereal voice as the other VI's. "Had fun with the riddle games?"

"Fun..? Fun? What kind of trick is this pulling _his_ image from my mind?"

"Oh, you have such strong feelings for this particular individual, even stronger than your desire to leave this reality."

"What do you mean, 'this reality'?" Jack asked, suspicious why the VI chose to emphasize those words. She might not be a genius, but no one thought she was slow. "Are you suggesting—"

"—That this is not some sort of rich boy's resort? That you are not only in another planet, but also in an entirely _different_ plane of existence?"

Jack's entire composure shook.

"So.." She tried to stammer out her next words, almost unbelieving. "B-But you're a VI, and those cultists back outside, how could they heal my broken bones so quickly without medi-gel?"

"While we may glimpse parts of your soul, much of what we have seen are indecipherable." The ghostly Shepard explained, mimicking the real Shepard's smooth even voice. "I am not a product of technology. I, and the rest of the Gauntlet are empowered by the Fade, which is not the darkness above the clouds as you presume. The Fade is the realm of the Maker, the spirits and demons, and the dead. It bears no relation to any dimension in your own reality."

"Then.. that means.. Kolgrim's promise to send me back to space.. back to Citadel space.. is impossible?"

"I am afraid so. Even the most powerful mages of the Tevinter Imperium cannot hope to acquire the knowledge and power necessary for such a reality-tearing spell. For all accounts and purposes, you are trapped in our domain."

"No.." She gasped and collapsed, her weapon clattering to the ground, forgotten in her despair.

The ghostly Shepard winked away, leaving her alone. Alone in this temple. Alone in this world. Alone in this reality. She could never go back to try to make a life in the Terminus system as she had planned. She could never take her vengeance on Cerberus and its illusive leader. She could never… never squeeze the life out of Shepard's neck for betraying her heart.

"That's right." Her voice stated, but it didn't came from her own mouth!

Jack grabbed her shottie and jumped to her feet. There was someone just over the corner further into the room. Steadily she leaned at the edge of the corner, careful in keeping enough cover. She dared a peek.

And saw herself, clad in the same borrowed medieval clothing and cloak, wielding the same weaponry she carried.

"You gotta be kidding me. Another VI? In my own fucking image?"

"That's right. I'm the second test. Now come and FACE ME!"

A blast not unlike a shotgun burst followed instantly, blasting away a small chunk of the stone she was leaning behind in. Jack didn't know how the hell the VI was capable of such things. The Guardian and all the other VIs so far seemed insubstantial, yet this one was as real as her.

Well, if the VI could damage her, she could damage it as well.

"Eat this you piece of crap!" And she fired a ball of warp. The highly concentrated field of rapidly shifting shreds of gravity sailed smoothly over towards the VI, but her facsimile just grinned and dodged, all the while firing shotgun pellets at her cover. Then it did something surprising. The VI curled its fist in glowing blue, then punched upward as if in an uppercut. She recognized that move anywhere. Blue flares of explosions were making a path right over her location, and she knew that her cover would offer her little protection. Yet… she couldn't feel anything on her senses that would indicate the manipulation of mass effects. This VI.. was merely simulating biotic abilities without actually using any eezo-derived powers. Was it magic?

Experimentally she threw a singularity in the path of the shockwave. As if confirming her suspicions, the shockwave abruptly ceased the moment got into the reach of the mass-dampening field. And by the very distinct outline contrasting over the blue ball, she guessed that the shockwave was actually caused by an invisible summoned creature.

"Touching, but sad." She taunted. "Seems like you can't do any biotics. I bet that parody of a shotgun you're holding is also fake."

Her pathetic copy only smirked and dropped her weapon to the floor, which vanished not soon after. The VI kept its eyes on her own and crossed its arms in smug superiority. "You may have won this battle, but there is a much greater struggle ahead of you. Good luck carving out a life in this dump without modern technology and comfort. Bitch."

The entire VI then faded into nothing, leaving Jack behind in a stupor.

No space travel. No credit chits. No mass effect. No toilets. No mercenaries. No guns.

Nothing. Zlich.

"Hahahahehehe…"

She couldn't stop giggling at the absurdity of her collapse. What the fuck was she doing? She didn't lose an arm or a leg. She didn't lose her biotics. She wasn't raped yet again. She was just stranded in another motherfucking planet! Sure, those crazy dragons were formidable, but from what she had encountered so far, those freaky cultists couldn't lay a hand on her alone. And the Guardian said that they were strong and enhanced due to dragon blood. That meant there was a whole world out there filled with weak pathetic sheep.

There might be more dragons out there in the world. And that non-biotic biotics or 'magic' that the robed people performed might present a serious danger if you could do more than erect a basic shield and throw fireballs. Still, she was sure her power wasn't trivial to the vast majority of fighters. Her biotics never ran out, and creating makeshift ammo for her weapons was something she had done plenty of times before. They might break down eventually; didn't Zaeed kept an old shitty gun that had him going for 15 years or so? If she was careful, she was sure she could extend her guns' lifespan.

What was she even thinking? Here she was, with her ass on a dusty cracked floor, just realizing she was stuck in a pseudo-fantasy planet filled with dungeons and dragons, and she's thinking about her weapons first?

'_Well.. it does look like this world is as fucked up as the shit I went through._'

Cultists, dragons, immortal VI-like guardians who had nothing better to do than to sneak through her memories… man, how bad would it be in real civilization?

Two things came to her mind.

One: She didn't know anything about this world.

Two: What the fuck is she supposed to do?

She couldn't decide what to do until she had a good idea on what the state of this world was in. How many dragons and magic users were there in this world? Were there any other threats? Could she mingle in with the rest of the natives?

And even if she managed to learn something more about this world, what the heck would she do? Become a farmer? Hah! A soldier. Nah. A mercenary? Hmm, close but not quite there yet. What did she really want to do?

'_Castrate__ Shepard, cut off Miranda's oversized boobs, and blow up Jacob and the rest of Cerberus for good measure.'_

But she could do none of those here.

"AArgghh! Fucking mass relay!"

Everything she ever wanted to do was completely out of her reach. Without her drive for vengeance, she was left without any purpose. What was a fucked up kid like her suppose to do? She certainly wasn't looking forward to integrating herself in some backwards society, following all these antiquated rules and being forced to grow her hair back together. No, she would _definitely_ refuse to comply with any sort of rules besides her own.

"Jeez."

She might not know how to proceed, but she sure as hell knew what she didn't want to do. Die in this Gauntlet, for once. Getting stabbed in the back by Kolgrim, for another. Being torn apart by that big-ass dragon, for third. She had to find a way to get out of this mad hellhole and find some refuge to plan her next step.

First though, she had to finish the next test. The cavern up ahead contained a bottomless hole. Obviously, you had to find a way to get to the other side of the room where a doorway led to a larger hall. She looked around for any clue on what she was supposed to do. There were strange square tiles on along both sides of the hole. Was she supposed to step on one?

She did, and lo and behold, some holographic bridge appeared. When she stepped on another tile, two other sets of bridge pieces appeared. She walked on all eight tiles that each one corresponded to a different set of two bridge pieces. There seemed to be no way for the bridge to stay solid besides having at least two others with her. Even then, another person was needed to actually go over the bridge. For all intents and purposes, she would never walk past without help.

'_Well, if you can't solve the problem, find a different problem that you can solve.'_

If she couldn't play along, she'd do it her own way. She extended her senses and spread her palms, concentrating on her telekinesis. With great effort, she created a huge horizontal biotic barrier that stretched from one end to the other end of the hole. When she was confident that it wasn't about collapse, she quickly ran over the distance until she reached solid ground. Her barrier fell away instantly. She hadn't created a barrier that big since..

Well, that was another story.

The final test was just up the corridor. And what a surprise, a wall of fire. There was an altar in front of the wall, and she bent down to make out the faded letters.

_Cast of the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar, be born anew in the Maker's sight._

In other words, strip naked and walk past the hot flames like you're strolling on the beach. Yeah right. Jack carefully approached the flames, stretching out a hand to feel the heat. It was real alright. But how real? She looked around critically. There didn't seem to be any fuel nor a funnel where the flames originated from. It just.. existed. While the heat felt real enough, was it real enough to scorch her alive?

What a pathetic test. The flaming wall was nothing but another VI trick like the rest. She supposed she had to take some uncertain leap of fate, but she was pretty sure the fires wouldn't harm her if she complied with its programmed parameters. She stripped out of her rags as naked as she usually was. It wasn't as if she was ashamed of her body. Taking a deep breath, she calmly walked forward.

And felt nothing as she passed the holographic illusion of the flames. The fires winked out as she passed, allowing her to take back her clothes and cover herself up. She didn't. When the Guardian appeared, he showed no signs of shock or embarrassment, or even lust.

'_He's a VI, duh.'_

The man stood rigid as he delivered a pre-canned speech. "You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet; you have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrim. Approach the Sacred Ashes. You are allowed to take a single pinch and use it for whatever purpose you desire."

He then winked out before she could say anything else. "Wait a minute! What am I supposed to do with these stupid ashes? Aren't you afraid I might do as Kolgrim wants?"

Her pleas were only answered by her own echoes. The hall was empty and silent in its majestic reverence. There was a huge red carpet before a raised platform of some sorts. At the top was a statue of a nondescript robed woman holding out one hand that acted as a torch. Not that it was needed, for there were large openings which let in a flood of daylight. Curious of what the big deal was about with these Ashes, she stomped up to the top to gaze dubiously at the large yellow pot. Urn. Whatever.

As she lifted up the lid, she expected to see some sort of glowing golden sand-like material. All she saw was the same dusty black ash that stained her own clothes. Was this supposed to be some super duper important relic? It was nothing but junk!

"Fucking hell."

She retrieved the vial of dragon blood. Her task was simple. Dump the contents in the Urn, then come out victorious and be forced to swallow some more dragon gunk. Yuck.

…

Wait a minute. Didn't the Guardian say that drinking dragon blood made you strong, but make you retarded as well?

'_I knew it! I knew they were going to betray me!'_

"Not again!"

Her fists thumped hard against her thigh as she vented her frustration. She was hurting herself, but grasped onto the pain to avoid the pain in her mind. Though she hardly cared for Kolgrim and his gang, she felt hurt that she was betrayed yet again in this unfamiliar world. What was it that made her such as gullible sucker? Why couldn't she escape double-crossers no matter where she went? It was absurd to think that even ending up in a completely different world, nothing ever changed. She was still Subject Zero, the most powerful human biotic, but also a fucking tool to be used and abused, in more ways than one. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

"I'm NOT Subject Zero!" She raged against Andraste's statue. "I'm NOT your little girl, and I'm NOT your little slave! Fuck YOU!"

After having let out all her steam, she collapsed against the altar that held the urn. She leaned her back against its surface and stared contemptuously at the vial Kolgrim had given to her. The dragon's blood was thick and oozy and weighed heavier than she thought, not unlike raw oil. The substance was opaque, but pure. As her eyes stayed focused on the vial, she felt more and more drawn into the swirls and depth. It was if.. it was luring her. Singing to her. It eased her mind. Though she would never admit it, she often wished she had a mother. A parent who loved her unconditionally and didn't seek to profit from her. One of her deepest, innermost fantasies was to be tucked into bed and sung to sleep. A tiny smile began to creep up her face.

She wiped it off her face. What was she doing, thinking about fantasies that had never and would never come true. She had to focus on her next step. What was she to do?

If she poured the blood into the Ashes, she doubted that the Guardian and his army of VIs would be glad. Jack wasn't sure if she could fight whatever forces the Guardian kept in reserve, let alone any other defense mechanism this temple had up its sleeve. On the other hand, if she exited the temple with nothing to show for, she was sure she'd get swamped by that big dragon and be torn to pieces before she could do much damage. She was in a shitty position either way, with no apparent escape. The only way in or out was the front door, and while she might punch a hole through the temple's walls, she doubted that the Guardian would appreciate her vandalism. Besides, without any tunnels, she would have to trek on open ground down the mountain. She'd be an open target to that dragon. No, it was better to take her luck with the Guardian.

Her hands hovered over the stopper, but paused midway. Was she just going to take the easy way out? Let herself be bullied by Kolgrim and his mad schemes? Be forced to drink another vial of this thick stinking blood? If she did what he wanted, she'd practically surrendered herself to a life of mindless devotion to some overgrown garden lizard. Was that what she wanted to do for the rest of her life?

Hell no.

There was no way she was going to dance to Kolgrim's tunes. But there was no way she could fight a dragon and win; she couldn't even fly! She needed power. She needed strength.

Strength.

The vial of blood rolled lazily over her palm as she considered the sticky liquid oozing inside. If she drank the blood, she might be able to gain enough strength to go toe-to-toe with the dragon!

"Heck that will do if my mind will be fried."

If she drank the blood, she'd become a mindless devotee. Maybe not immediately, but her mind would certainly erode until she craved for nothing but to worship the new Andraste. If only she could obtain the advantages while leaving out the weaknesses.

'_Think, Jack, what would Mordin come up with? Cult, Kolgrim, Dragon, forcing me to do things, temple, Gauntlet, VI's, dragon blood, makes you strong but stupid, Ashes of some dead woman, supposed to cure anything, walls have no exits, might be able to punch—'_

Wait.

What did she just thought? The Ashes were supposed to cure anything…

Anything…

A veritable light bulb appeared over her head as she scrambled on her feet and lifted up the lid to view the plain ashes yet again. They didn't seem anything special, but if the Guardian was to be believed, it could cure _anything_. Jack doubted people would build this temple and make pilgrims go through the Gauntlet just to see some useless dust. It had to contain some special ability. While she couldn't quite accept that magic existed, there was no other explanation on how these primitive people could create magical VIs. It was a gamble, she admitted, but one that she felt reasonably certain about. Besides, there didn't seem to be any other way out of her predicament.

She held the vial of blood close, considering whether she should go ahead or not. In order to fight her way through the cultists, she needed power. What she didn't need was the added baggage of a deteriorating mind. But if she swallowed the dragon blood first, then swallowed up a pinch of Andraste's ashes, she might be able to stop her mental degradation while keeping her enhanced strength!

'_Damn I'm cunning!'_

Sure, the ashes might negate the full effect of the blood, or the entire process might go horribly wrong, but she wasn't exactly one for being cautious. So before she could change her mind, she opened the stopper of the vial. With her other hand she carefully scooped up a tiny pinch of ash from the Urn.

The plan was simple. Drink the blood, then follow immediately with the ashes.

"Here goes…"

Jack took a full swig of the blood, shaking out the remaining drops into her mouth. She then closed her mouth and swallowed the thick bile-like substance down her throat. Her mouth opened again to receive the pinch of ashes, but before she could dump it in her mouth, her stomach convulsed in horrendous agony.

"FUCK!"

Blinding shock paralyzed her body, making her fall over against the altar and lose her grip on the ashes. Her entire neural system turned aflame as the vile blood ran its unnatural course through her body. Her brain sizzled as countless images went past her mind. The alien and incomprehensible knowledge seemed to press on her head like the garbage compactor in Zaeed's bunk.

_A violent birth-A huge red mother-A burning ancient city-The submission of the human cattle-The sacrifice of a thousand babies-Millions of peasants kneeling in worship-A throne carved on the mountainside-An ocean of gold and jewels-The dominion of all the races of the world-_

"..too much… ng.."

_The destruction of an entire brood-Agony amongst the Old Gods-The near death of the prime-The great betrayal-Eternal sleep-Underground shadow-_

Chaos trampled her consciousness. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth and her eyes rolled upwards as she could feel her biotic control begin to unravel. Motes of dust on her cloak began to float as local gravity ceased to exist. Her entire body started to glow in blue as her biotic barrier went in overload. Still her limbs were on fire. Jack couldn't take it much more and she knew it. She had to take the ashes now or risk shredding herself apart by her out-of-control biotics. Already she could feel her left hand forming an unstable warp field that shredded at the skin of her palm. Blood began to seep through those cuts, which splattered all over her by the unstable warp field.

" Where. The. Fuck. Are.. the GHAhg.. ASHES!"

Her eyes focused long enough to sight the yellowish shape of the large urn. She blindingly reached at it with her undamaged hand, managing to catch the open lid. Her hand desperately grasped inside for another pinch, but her fingers started to spike in pain and she lost control over her entire arm. Her body suddenly dragged downwards, taking the Urn down with her. She could see almost in slow motion as the holy relic tipped over. Her addled mind, full of dragon speak and memories of flight, was nonetheless able to direct her head over the falling relic. Slowly she managed dive her head underneath the path of the falling Urn. Her mouth opened eagerly to receive the spray of Ashes that was sure to end up over her head.

The lip of the Urn collided neatly against Jack's bald head. The Urn managed to land upside-down on her entire face, drenching her forehead, eyes, nose cheeks and mouth into piles of ash. Having forgotten about taking just a pinch, Jack eagerly inhaled the cough-inducing dust, even snorting in her nose to make sure she got as much as she got. Most of the Ashes fell went past her face and clothes to pool on the floor, but she managed to get at least three full swallows of ash. Plenty of it also stuck to her eyes, stinging it painfully.

The Ashes were having an effect. Instantly the oppressive presence in her mind had vanished. The fire in her nerves had ceased. The wounds on her palm had healed and even the bump on her forehead had stopped throbbing.

It was over, she thought as she coughed up some of the remaining ash in order to breathe. The ashes worked. Carefully she lifted the Urn off her face and set it upright on the altar. She wobbled to her feet, unsteady as unfamiliar sensations tingled throughout her body. Whether it was primarily due to the blood or the ashes, she didn't know. All she knew was that her limbs felt like being massaged and stomped on at the same time. Her stomach was roiling with whatever mess was mixing in her stomach. Her thumping heart was pounding like she had run a marathon.

"No, the Ashes!" A distant voice exclaimed. "You were just supposed to take a pinch! A single pinch!"

Red. Her vision was red. She could see nothing but intermittent shades of the darkest red to the brightest yellow. Her neck obeyed long enough for her to tilt over her head. Down at the entrance of the hall was a hazy-looking shape that looked much like the Guardian. From his posture, she could tell he wasn't exactly relaxed.

"What have you done? You have taken too much power onto yourself. No single person was meant to partake so much of Andraste's essence. Such.. such sacrilege must be avenged!"

The sense of danger smacked Jack out of her paralysis. Every unusual feeling on her body receded as her thoughts focused on one pure thought: fight. Her instincts, all honed in battle, made her stand up to her feet and aim her shotgun at the imminent threat. The red haze over her eyes faded away, leaking color in her vision. She could see the Guardian's astonished and enraged face now. His hands were gripping the shaft of his huge warhammer that looked capable enough to shrug off anything she could throw at him. Sure, he was just a magical VI, but her experiences in the Gauntlet suggested that they could do a few mighty tricks. Her suspicions was confirmed. The head of the hammer glowed in pure white flame as righteous as the Guardian's cause.

The man then raised up the hammer over his head and shouted, "Brethren of the Ashes, arise!"

A halo stretched out of his hammer, first expanding slowly, then rapidly accelerating to engulf the entire room. Circular shadows appeared all over the sides of the hall, and Jack could sense a tickle just out of the edge of her consciousness as the ash wraiths burst from the floor with a shattering birth cry. Jack's ears were ringing as they became overloaded with layers upon layers of sensory input. It was as if the blood had unlocked a dormant part of her potential. From the highest of vibrations to the lowest of rumblings, she could hear it all. She could hear the wind shearing through the creaks of the wall, the footsteps outside as impatient cultists were strutting around, the hungry breath of Andraste as she eagerly awaited the outcome of the latest sacrifice. Jack could hear the dormant flow of lava churning beneath the mountain, following an endless cycle as it did for billions of years.

Throughout her transformation, millions of other changes took place in her body. The blood and the ashes both struggled for dominance over her body. The blood was relentless in its purpose, malevolent in its desire to impose its mistress' will over any human cattle. Her body was nothing but a mere toy, a vessel of curiosity and amusement to the high dragon's whims. Opposing the dragon's blood invasion was the benevolent will of the ashes of Andraste. The remnants, pale in comparison to her living flesh, contained the echoes of the essence of the Maker's wife herself. This pure source of divine power, available in abundance due to Jack's unfortunate accident, rolled through her soul in waves. Marks of abuse and imperfections that Jack had carried since her birth were mended and healed in an instant. Unused potential due to chronic abuse and uncertain experimentation had unlocked itself from deep within her body, feeding massive reserves of biotic energy throughout her muscles.

The two sources of change fought over two different battlefields. The blood sought to improve but also corrupt her flesh. The ashes, seeing no harm in the improvement had let that slide, but the corruption was paramount in their priority to stop. Over Jack's soul, the two different influences sought to corrupt and purify her very existence and will. They were equally matched in this field and no matter what they tried, a stalemate emerged.

In the middle of these two foreign influences was Jack herself. She agonized over the battle within herself, wishing for the turbulence to stop. Already she could observe the ashes floating towards her, their rending claws ready to gouge out her eyes. How could she fight when she couldn't even stand up straight? The shadowy shapes were coming closer now, having already crossed half the distance. With the battle over her body still unresolved, desperation crept up within her as she found she could barely control her body, let alone her biotics. Her skin was randomly glowing blue and purple as her biotic barrier behaved erratically. It wouldn't be able to take much punishment before it would shatter apart.

Fuck it all.

Her hands grasped over the familiar shape of her shotgun. As soon as the weapon was firmly gripped, Jack aimed for the approaching shapes and fired away. The first shot passed through her enemies' insubstantial bodies harmlessly. Her second shot hit something critical of one creature, making it flame out into oblivion. The rest of her shots was erratic and random, hitting nothing and everything in between. No matter how much she tried to focus on her efforts, she simply couldn't aim straight.

_Chk!_

Damn it! Her heat sink was at its limit! She disengaged the overheated chunk of metal easily enough. Now… clip-clip-clip where was her clip! One of her hand scrambled for her pouch-then realized those damned cultists didn't gave her one! She was all out of heat sinks and there were at least 3 wraiths coming at her now!

Abandoning her shotgun, she unclipped her SMG and sprayed without abandon. Aiming was hopeless in her disoriented state, but the gun spat out a good number of bullets until one by one, each wraith had faded into indistinguishable dust of ash. Her sink was glowing red, not quite at its limit, but enough for a few more bursts. Now, where was that bastard Guardian?

Her question was answered immediately as the square hammer whooshed from the ash cloud and snapped at the hand holding her gun, knocking the weapon far off the side and breaking a lot of bones. She cried out in pain, but had the sense to roll over to the side to evade another blow aimed for her head. The enraged Guardian continued to limber up the stairs to hover right over her. He lashed out with his feet, knocking Jack's side and propelling her enough to fall painfully off the raised platform.

"Ahck!"

Her landing was graceless, and with the distracting war raging in her mind, Jack couldn't pick herself up in time to avoid the armored boot landing on top of her. If her barrier hadn't stayed solid at that moment, she was sure her ribs would have collapsed in her lungs and heart. Still, with her hand smashed to pieces, her back slammed to the ground and her brain still in a jumble, she was practically helpless as a lamb as the Guardian was swinging his hammer against her head.

The blocky shape travelled rapidly up her nose. Jack's eyes flared as she recognized how closely death was hanging over her. Jumbles of her past fights cycled in her mind. The savage arena fights in the Cerberus facility. The violence of her escape. The years of abuse and misplaced trust amongst the pirates. Her freelance brawling. The mess with her cult. Then, Shepard. Shepard on Purgatory. Shepard on Ilium. Shepard on the dead Reaper. Shepard on the Collector Base.

All those fights. All those kills. All those victories.

She was stronger than any of them. She had slain countless mercenaries, hundreds of Ceberus elite, scores of Collector scum and aided in the destruction of a human Reaper. What was a mere magical VI in comparison to the most powerful human biotic of her time?

Her sheer force of will directly imposed her dominion on her body. Bright blue biotic energy flared out into pulses, rocking the Guardian off his feet before his hammer could connect. The unceasing war between the influences of the dragon's blood and Andraste's ashes had ended as the battlefield itself had captured and converted their power for Jack's own benefit. The latent sentient wills over both influences were nearly wiped out as the powerful biotic crowded them out. The Guardian merely gaped at the spectacle in front of her as dark energies warped around the human's body, which began to float as local gravity ceased to exist.

Jack opened her eyes, blinding the room in blue as her orbs shone like bright blue giants. Her broken and bloody hand rapidly mended into whole as she called upon the ashes' healing potential.

"Wh-what in the name of Andraste?"

The sound of the Guardian's baffled voice made the newly reinvigorated Jack focus on her opponent. Her enhanced eyes could pick out the lack of warmth, the lack of a heartbeat, the lack of blood circulation. She could recognize what he actually was now with her jumbled dragon memory. The Guardian wasn't just a magical VI; he was a soul, once living, but now forcibly anchored to the living world by powerful magic. There was a faint line of energy trailing from the center of his navel. Her gaze followed the line up the stairs to the alter that held the urn until it ended on the flame held out by Andraste's open palm.

A smirk touched on her face as she stretched one hand towards the statue. "I know your secret now, shitface."

"No! Wait! Andraste's legacy must—"

A pure spike of warp lanced out against the statue, destroying it entirely. The flame winked out immediately, snapping the Guardian's only remaining connection to the world. The anchor-less soul continued to wail as the Fade clawed his soul back to where he belonged. Jack floated in fascination as she saw the extra-dimensional portal came into existence, offering her a glimpse into the world beyond. Demons, spirits and misshapen terrain dominated the new dimension. Eager demons noticed her appearance and hungered already for her sheer personality. Her new memories showed her many savage scenes where demons were concerned. The dragon kind had dealt with them often enough. She knew what each demon craved for, and recognized how much of it was in abundance in herself. She must have been the most juiciest catch that has ever shown itself to them. If any demon controlled her mind and her incredible biotic reserves, there would be no telling what destruction she could unleash on this ignorant world.

As soon as the portal appeared however, it dissipated into nothing. The Guardian was gone, and so were any remaining dangers.

Jack's eyes rolled over her sockets as her biotics abruptly ceased. Gravity resumed its course, causing Jack's unconscious body to fall into a heap. The war between the blood and the ashes picked up where they had left up, though muted in their intensity as much of their free will was sapped away.

All the while, sleep graced over the biotic's mind as it processed the millennia of pictures and memories. Her resting body took advantage of its unconscious state and began to rearrange vital organs and tissue. Overnight, Jack would become something other than human. Not quite a biotic, not quite a reaver and not quite a prophetess. Whatever the result of her transformation, she was never going to be just Jack anymore.

Not that she was aware of any of the implications. Her almost blissful dreams avoided any of those topics and settled on only one single person. Shepard.

* * *

**End Notes:** As you may have deduced from what you have read so far, I have little to no intention of wasting my time with the Mass Effect universe. Oh, plenty of things might happen there, but like my other fic _The Songs of the Fox_, the origin of the protagonist is of little current importance and frankly, really boring and should be written in another fic. This fic really focuses more on what kind of life Jack will make in the Dragon Age world. If I chose any other character, such as Shepard or Garrus, then they'd inevitably be some goody two-shoes and join the Grey Wardens in their quest. I want an alternate plot which would not center around the Blight but more on mortal geopolitics. I have something else in mind for the darkspawn as well. Whether any of you will get to read it is uncertain, however, since my interest or motivation in this fic might wane. I make no promises.


	2. Oh just fuck it

April 17, 2010  
Revised: July 24, 2011  
By RahXephon [847246]

**Author's Notes:** I have decided to change the timeline of this fic and slightly edited the first chapter to reflect this change. The arrival of Jack into this world has happened before the battle of Ostagar.

* * *

_**Dragon Age: Jack Effect**_

_Oh just fuck it_

* * *

Jack woke up. Not with a pounding headache, but close to it anyway. Her throat was absolutely parched and her stomach was roiling from the lack of content. The first action she took when her eyes had opened was to bend over and dry heave. Sickness rolled over her as the abruptness of her movement induced further discomfort. The wave of nausea had passed after a few minutes, leaving the woman alone in her silent daze.

'_What the.. why am I so… ughhh…'_

It took some difficulty to recall her last few memories. The collector base. The alien device. Transported to a mountainside. Tunnels. Deranged cultists. Dragon-like creatures. Inner Sanctum. Urn of Sacred Ashes. Dragon blood. The Urn tipping over and falling over her face. The astonished face of the Guardian. Nothing.

Piecing together her jumbled memories took some time, but eventually she understood. She remembered her agreement with Kolgrim to pour the dragon blood into the Urn. She refused because she'd be forced to drink the blood after that and become a brainwashed cultist herself. Coming out empty handed however would result in her slaughter as that formidable dragon lounging outside would tear her to pieces.

To survive, and to escape, she therefore needed power. Power that only the vial of dragon blood could provide. So in her stupidity, she drank the blood, then accidentally swallowed several gulps of Andraste's ashes to counteract the negative effects of the transformation.

What had eventually happened, she couldn't tell. Vaguely she could recall bringing up the genetic memories of the high dragon's line all the way up to the Old God who had first came into existence. Those jumbles of scattered images and memories were firmly buried in her mind, and no matter what she did she couldn't dredge them back up. Nothing mentally had changed for the worse, it seemed.

As she stood up and looked over her body, she could see that her various bruises and other injuries had healed completely, leaving not a single blemish behind. Her tattoos had remained perfect, but the scars hiding underneath had strangely disappeared. Her body also felt.. fuller, and subtly she could sense she stood a few fingertips taller. Had all her scars been healed so completely? Was there nothing left to mark her life as a victim?

Something called to her inside. Her biotic muscles were itching, and she was unfamiliar with the sensation. Were they.. aching to be unleashed?

Glowing in blue, she prepared to unleash her pent-up energies.

The power she possessed! It was as if a sun burned brightly in her heart, each beat a solar flare of excess energy extending out of her limbs. Her powered sight revealed just how marvelous and expansive her new potential was. She had no doubt she could crumble the walls of the temple with a single biotic fist or summon a singularity which could tear down an entire skyscraper. She felt she stood at the top of the world, looking down on the people of this primitive planet like Dumat had done thousands of years ago.

Despite the unnatural rush of euphoria she was experiencing, her mind was not completely caught up in her good fortune. Years of suspicion and caution had drilled into her the need to see the flipside of the coin. As she tried out more biotics, she realized the trade-off. Her control had suffered severely, which would make it more difficult to manipulate smaller objects or limit the damage. Another setback was that the increased power that had been expended would rapidly fatigue whatever limb she used. Were it not for the remnants of Andraste's ashes that had stuck on her clothes and on the floor, she would have been sucked dry of energy.

That represented the immediate worry. It had been days since she last ate. The ashes, though replenishing, were having funny effects on her body and was starting to run out. Her body ached with a desire for sustenance. Her mind, more primal and visceral than she realized, was craving for flesh. Meat, any meat, was preferable. Quick flashes of ancient dragons feasting on living humans flickered by. She didn't realize her lack of revulsion.

On the contrary, her mouth watered even more at the sight of torn strips of juicy flesh.

'_Now where in this dump can I get something to eat?'_

Her slightly glowing blue eyes calmly swept over the room, taking in not only the visible spectrum but also the pockets of hidden magic woven underneath. Alas, there weren't any hidden spirits or biscuits stashed away anywhere.

Her nose, more sensitive than she was accustomed to, picked up the nearby scent of life. Of kin. Of flesh.

A grin appeared on Jack's face as thick globs of drool leaked through her sharpened teeth. The mere prospect of feasting upon raw tender meat made her heart beat faster against her chest. She needed to fill her stomach, and soon.

Before she even realized, she was bounding on all fours out of the final hall and all the way back towards the entrance of the Inner Sanctum. She leaped over the chasm of the third test effortlessly, and continued to lope towards the doorway leading out into the world. Jack knocked right through the doors, breaking the log that braced them together without even realizing the feat.

She skidded to a halt as a veritable army of cultists blocked her path. Kolgrim, a score of warriors and a dozen mages stood guard over the exit of the small ravine. A dozen wingless drakes were prowling carefully around the sides of the cliff, all growling in excitement as Jack had appeared. The high dragon herself was circling above them all, well out of reach from any of Jack's attack. In her rush to barrel outside, she had forgotten to retrieve her guns. Stupid. Then again, she wasn't exactly known for being prudent.

"You have returned, o great champion." Kolgrim announced as he separated from the rest of his group. His red armor gleaned in the afternoon sunlight. "It has been weeks since you have entered the Sanctum. Have you achieved your objective?"

"No."

The man frowned at the sudden answer and grasped the handle of his battleaxe protruding from his shoulder. "I sense the blood calling out from within your body. You have ingested all of the blood without spilling any of it on the Urn? Was the need so great that you had to ingest it before you finished the Gauntlet?"

"No."

"What is it that happened then?" His eyes narrowed into slits. "You dare to defy holy Andraste's wishes?"

Jack wanted to pound and grind her opposition to paste, then eat their pathetic remains to satisfy her hunger. But that didn't mean she could. Those reapers might be resilient enough to shrug off her opening moves, and if those mages were allowed to cast a lot of spells, she was sure she'd be crippled in some fashion. The drakes would then be in a position to overwhelm her as they did in their first battle.

No. Fighting these small fry was not an option. Escape… perhaps. The humans would be able to keep up despite their heavy equipment due to their dragon-gained strength, she was sure. Eventually though, she might lose them in the mountainside, leaving only the big dragon and the drakes. Was that a better choice, though? She was just as likely tiring out herself and risk a nasty fall. The dragon would catch her before she would get any far as well.

Run or fight. Another dead end. Or was it?

Her blood – her very being – called out to fight.

No, not to fight, but to dominate.

Turning up to the sky to the almost invisible speck of the dragon, her blood sang in battle lust. This brood, the dragon's brood, was of little threat. The high dragon however was the apex of her opposition. Take it out, and the rest would fall, and she could pick up the pieces and proclaim her own dominance over the cattle herself. Yes…

The thought of how to fly upwards to meet her rival wasn't even a concern to Jack. The very definition of mass effect concerned the manipulation of gravity. True flight was tricky, and even the most ancient asari matriarchs could only maneuver slowly. That was fine, since she only needed to grapple on to her prey.

So with intense effort and concentration, she modified her biotic barrier from repulsing projectiles to repulsing herself from the ground. Her bright blue glow momentarily stunned the cultists, but Kolgrim quickly realized Jack's intention as she was starting to clear above the ravine.

"She's after Andraste herself! Archers, mages, fire!"

Arrows and crossbow bolts immediately launched towards Jack, but her movement made her very hard to hit. Magical bolts and other magical attacks were homing in on her however, leaving the ex-mercenary no choice but to call on her biotic barrier to block the worst of the damage. Splitting her focus like this also slowed her progress though. Some attacks glanced off harmlessly off her barrier, but insubstantial attacks such as lightning bolts passed right through, shocking her and disrupting her concentration. Her flight became erratic, allowing the drakes to launch themselves towards her immobile form in an attempt to tackle her down.

Jack noticed the danger, but the lightning strikes continued to assault her concentration. Already two drakes were gaining rapidly on her. Seeing no other choice, she held out both palms and aimed towards the mages. Invisible hands grasped each of the eight or so robed figures. All were astonished at being lifted off the ground, some even whispering some counter-spells to little use. Jack grinned savagely as the mages slammed against the frozen floor like a pile of bricks, breaking bones and causing horrendous agony.

That left barely enough time to deal with the drakes. She slapped a singularity on the ass of one drake. The creature pulled into her mass effect field and flowed helplessly in mid-air. Jack simultaneously used that singularity's field to dodge out of the charge of another drake, which got itself pulled in the mass-less field as well. Safe from immediate attack, she then polarized her biotic barrier into a repulsion field, launching away from the singularity's influence. Arrows continued to pelt at her, but soon enough she hovered out of range.

The tiny, insignificant speck circling above became less insignificant and more defined. The high dragon, sensing a challenge, chose not to fly away from the approaching danger. After all, what was the might of a dragon compared to a puny mortal? Jack didn't care either way, but at least her opponent saved her some trouble.

As she came within hearing distance of the creature, Andraste roared a terrible challenge that shook Jack's bones into rattling. Ordinary humans would have panicked. Jack wasn't ordinary, either before or after she went through the ordeal in the temple. Nothing stood in her way. She could punch through YMIR Mechs with ease and destroy entire starships from the inside-out. A mere oversized lizard was nothing compared to her might.

At least that was what she thought.

Before she could blink her eyes, Andraste ceased its almost casual flight and dove right at the approaching human. The high dragon readied its jaw to spew hot flames of fury. Jack barely had time to strengthen her biotic barrier when the flame engulfed her entire form, only to be slammed by the dragon's incredible bulk before she could do anything else. The impact shattered against her barrier, and it was a miracle that her defense didn't fail right away. Jack herself could do nothing but hold onto the spiky bulk as the dragon spiraled around in an attempt to jar and shake her off. Gritting her teeth, Jack continued to hold on, the disappearing flames giving her a small reprieve. With a momentous jerk, she launched herself away from the rampaging dragon, free-falling away.

She didn't fall for long. Both her fists glowed in the brightest blue as she tried to utilize one of Shepard's few useful lessons. Though her implants weren't designed for such a short but powerful sustained exertion, she was the most powerful biotic and she wouldn't let that obstacle get in her way. Her silhouette quickly glowed into a blur, and in an instant, she launched herself back up in the air and straight towards the massive shape of Andraste, slamming boldly against its chest. The incredible collision cracked the scales and a few of the ribs of the creature, which instantly slammed its claw against the dazed form of Jack. The slap tumbled her away again in a spin, which only worsened her disorientation. Only with great effort did she managed to stall her fall and hover in mid-air.

The high dragon, finally acknowledging her as a true threat, began to make a pass at her. Now that Jack could actually think straight, she belatedly realized that the dragon's superior maneuverability would grant it supremacy in the skies. As long as the dragon stayed in flight, Jack was reduced to relying on her barriers to hold out. It would just be a matter of time before they began to fail.

'_The wings.. fuck, I'm such an idiot!'_

The dragon was almost upon her, its jaw glowing gold as it prepared to unleash its flame. Jack held still, waiting for the ancient beast to come shouting distance. As the dragon finally released its breath, Jack rapidly unleashed another biotic charge. This time though, she wasn't aiming for the lizard's chest.

Her entire body tore right through the hard leathery skin of a wing, creating a rupture so large that the dragon lost its entire balance. It tumbled down into the sky, but eventually managed to stabilize itself and glide downwards not far away from the temple. Jack's descent wasn't as smooth though, temporarily blinded by the remains of the wing she pierced through. The fleshy piece was slippery to her fingers, yet clung on her face like it was glued. By the time she finally got rid of it, she was seconds away from being squashed. Even a floating singularity couldn't bleed off enough momentum for her to land without breaking any bones.

No problem. She had done it all before.

With one fist, she formed a singularity, which she launched ahead of her to the ground. Her other fist held a ball of warp, which she launched right after. The faster warp collided with the singularity, producing a chaotic blast that swept the falling Jack up in its unstable influence. The combo took out a lot of her concentration, so she couldn't do anything else to stop her unsteady fall into the snow and solid rock beneath. Her barrier flared out just after the painful fall, but it had shielded her enough to prevent any major damage.

Both combatants picked themselves up and shook away the pain and fatigue. The high dragon spread its wings menacingly, and despite the tear in its wing made for a terrifying sight. Already its tear was festering with fleshy growth, regenerating the lost tissue and sealing up any wounds.

'_Shit.'_

If the dragon could go back into the air, then the dragon would regain its advantage. Jack had to end this battle quickly, or at least damage the wings enough to keep her enemy from flying. With that thought, she formed a biotic warp in her palm and stormed right through the snow at her roaring nemesis, adding her own hoarse voice in the noise. Before she came close enough to strike, the dragon lifted itself upright, then fell back and slammed its front paws hard against the surface. The resulting rumble made Jack lose her footing, and she threw her warp away with no time to aim. The ball splashed harmlessly against the dragon's menacing scales, causing only minor tear and wear.

Andraste's long neck stretched towards Jack's fallen form, its glowing jaw screaming out another roar before spurting a jet of searing fire. The flames immediately steamed the snow away, a premonition of things to come if the biotic didn't get out of the way. The hiss of steam and flame warned her enough to strengthen her biotic barrier and dodge away, but this time her defense was not enough to keep out all the heat. Her cloak caught flame, which began to burn her clothes underneath and the skin as well. She bit back her painful cry as she lost the useless garment and rolled her entire body in the snow. The action blanketed her with freezing cold but successfully put out the flames.

Then the dragon was upon her again. Great claws surged towards her, intending to grab or crush her lithe body by sheer weight. Jack managed to ride the blow and use her biotics to jump herself off the limb, though she received more damage in return. One nasty claw managed to tear through her flimsy clothes and wound her back. Already she could feel the seeping cold wind freeze up the leaking wound, but she didn't have any further time to contemplate as the enraged dragon snapped out its neck.

"Shit!"

Jack instinctively formed a small warp and threw it at the oncoming jaw. As she dodge to the side, she could see the warp go right into the beast's mouth and tear the unarmored cavity with a multitude of rapidly shifting gravitational pressures. The high dragon cried terribly as it incurred the damage with buckets of blood leaking from its ravaged tongue and flesh. The biotic human didn't waste her opportunity and threw a shockwave at the dragon which blew the dragon slightly off its paws.

Her next assault was relentless. Using both her athletics and biotics, she danced and weaved around the dragon's ineffective swipes, dodging each attack that came after her. Jack unleashed her entire arsenal, from throwing warps to trying to reave the dragon's limbs into uselessness. Each time the dragon's incredibly tough scales repulsed her attacks. Only the wings were vulnerable, but her opponent caught on what she was trying to do and kept them well out of the way.

Nothing seemed to work! She had managed to punch out some teeth, but the giant lizard had managed to crunch its jaw on her arm, breaking it savagely. Down to a single arm, her attacks and agility were drastically reduced. On the other hand, the perversion of Andraste didn't risk breathing out its fire. Both opponents breathed harshly as they came upon a temporary lull in the battle.

'_Fucking hell… what was I thinking… this ain't some dumb YMIR mech.. it's more like a demigod!'_

The creature snapped up its snout and roared defiantly into the sky. Jack was used it by now, but couldn't help but shiver each time the vibrations shook her bones. She knew she was in a bad spot, and despite the warmth enveloping her damaged limb, she couldn't trust it to heal during the remainder of the battle. A quick end was needed.

How?

The only attack that really worked against the massive dragon was brute force. Unfortunately, it was deviously cunning and each time she wanted to punch through the dragon's scales with a biotic fist, her opponent would swat her aside with its tail before she got any close. The only real time she got close enough was…

The vanguard charge!

The bout of inspiration that spread from that idea was fucking insane, but it might just work! With one arm down, the charge would be more dangerous and uncontrollable, but if it succeeded, she'd be close enough to unleash one powerful attack, provided she could shake off the effects of the impact.

The great purple wyrm pounced on her again, and she barely managed to roll away, the pain from her limb becoming almost unbearable. She picked herself up and tried to circle around the dragon, trying to find a blind spot where the dragon wouldn't swat her away. Andraste wasn't giving her that opportunity though, and turned to face Jack no matter where she went.

'_This is fucking ridiculous!'_

She tried a different tack then, running straight away from the dragon and towards some nearby outcrops. Her enemy lumbered after her, threatening to overtake her puny human legs in mere seconds. When the dragon snapped up its long neck for a lunge, Jack began to grin in anticipation.

Like a coiled snake, the neck stretched out towards her, twin rows of teeth waiting to mangle her body apart. However, she had already jumped upwards, and used her biotic abilities to charge right at the vulnerable neck. As the dragon snapped only empty air, a small weight impacted roughly just behind its skull, cracking a few small vertebrae. The creature cried in terrible agony and shook its damaged neck to get rid of the pesky but dangerous human. Jack wasn't having any of it, keeping her legs clawed tight on Andraste's scales. As her remaining fist charged with bright blue power, she punched it right through the tough scale that protected the vulnerable insides. Her empowered fist tore right through flesh, bone and vital nerves. The dragon choked off its cry as massive amounts of blood began to seep into its air pipe.

Jack launched herself off when the beast's convulsions threatened to make her slip. She hovered softly on the ground as the vengeful dragon looked at her with undisguised hatred. Its final act of defiance was to jump its massive body over the short distance between them, intending to crush the human beneath its massive weight.

The jump was fast, far too fast for Jack to dodge. Surprise adorned her face, which quickly transitioned into something else. Not fear, but anticipation. Before she could be flattened into a mushy pancake, Jack let loose her entire biotic reserves, creating a humongous pull field that covered an entire swimming pool. The great horrendous wyrm was caught helplessly in its influence, and for once, its inhuman eyes showed nothing but fear. Jack, exhausted and stressed beyond her limits, managed only just to invert the mass effect field, slamming the beast into the ground and keeping it there. The tremendous pressure in her body was already making her lightheaded, and she could feel the blood pouring out of her nose and ears. She had to finish it quickly before her energy ran out.

Spotting an idle piece of rock, she picked it up and ran towards her fallen opponent. Wasting no time, she based the rock against the dragon's vulnerable eyes, crushing it apart and soaking her body with more dragon blood. She quickly retreated her arm and thrust the rock within the cavity she had just made. It tore right through the fleshy parts and vulnerable bone until it reached the brain.

The high dragon's death cry was silent. The entire body shook only a few times until it collapsed in a lifeless clump. The duel was over. A single human had managed to defeat one of the most fearsome creatures to ever grace the lands of Thedas.

Tired, wounded and drunk on adrenaline, Jack crouched in the reddened snow and began to tear off a chunk of flesh from the eye socket. Without a conscious thought, she tore her teeth in the flesh, chewing on the raw rubbery texture before swallowing it whole. She ate the rest of her chunk and grabbed some more. The feast had begun.

* * *

The aftermath of her battle with the high dragon had a profound impact on the sleepy village of Haven. Without the matron's mental influence, the drakes and dragonlings reverted to mindless savagery, attacking everyone and everything in their sights. The reavers, though rendered unthinking and indecisive, had enough sense to defend themselves and their closest friends. Still, the death toll was staggering. Of the four hundred or so villagers, fifty had perished in the bloodbath that had ensued. When the dragonkin saw their numbers reduce drastically, they fled in all directions, to be never seen again. The funeral pyre needed to get rid of all the bodies burned for three days straight, and smoldered on for weeks long after.

The human thralls, disconnected from the poisonous influence of the dragon queen, became mindless sheep. They understood speech, but simply had no desire to talk. The people forgot to relieve themselves in the bushes, or drink when they were thirsty. They stayed numbly awake until their exhaustion forced them to collapse in whatever uncomfortable place they were in. Plenty of farmers in outlying homesteads had died exactly in that manner.

At first, Jack didn't care for any of the wasting cultists. They brought their fate on themselves, and they had no right to receive help for all they had done. The biotic was content to lounge for days besides the huge dragon's corpse, occasionally ripping out a delicious chunk of meat to roast over the fire. At first, she was laughing her ass off as she saw the retarded Kolgrim shit himself in his armor.

All that had changed though when one little girl stepped out of the cave exit, clutching a worn doll and calling out for her mommy and daddy. Her bright blue eyes became filled with tears as she stumbled over the corpse of a young blonde mage, collapsing before it and pushing her small hands against the cold frozen body.

"Please daddy! Why won't you move! Don't leave me alone!"

Jack couldn't do anything but stare at the sight. The girl was untouched and innocent, and likely hadn't drank the dragon blood as of yet. Haven probably held more children, more boys and girls who were guilty of no crime but being the offspring of some despicable people. They couldn't condemn their birth, as Jack herself couldn't blame her biotic potential.

'_I don't care a shit about these fucking cultists… but.. damnit..'_

There were two things Jack hated more than anything else in her life. Being betrayed was one, but seeing other children suffer as she had suffered brought out pure vehemence in her eyes. She hated Cerberus for brutally experimenting on children with biotic powers. She hated the slavers who captured, raped then sold defenseless children. She hated cultists of every kind who would bring naïve people into their fold and exploit them until they were worthless. Seeing that little girl despair at her father's corpse was more agonizing than anything she had ever felt. Not only did the girl have a parent, which Jack had not, the girl had lost her father due to Jack's intervention. If she had not been here, the father might have never died, avoiding all the suffering that took place.

She felt guilty, guilty because she had taken so many lives away. Though there was no doubt this cult was up to no good, it was relatively isolated and bothered no one in their mindless worship of the high dragon. The deaths of the adults didn't disturb her in the least. It was the deaths of parents and the consequences of the orphans – orphans _she_ had made – which wrenched her heart. What was supposed to become of those children, those unaffected by the wasting of their parents? Probably they'd try to make ends meet, but with the village all but empty, they were easy pickings for bandits and other unsavory groups. With no one to protect the young, they'd all be raped and end up in mines or whorehouses. She of all knew what the fate of defenseless young children looked like. Would she allow that to happen to that little blond girl as well? Would she see that same girl a decade later in some shoddy brothel, eyes empty of life?

How she wished she was back in Citadel space. The Systems Alliance was as rotten and hypocritical as Cerberus, but at least they could be relied upon to answer to any rescue calls and take in the survivors of any raid. Jack was sure whatever government Haven was a part of cared not a whit for a single devastated village. That these cultists apparently went on with their crazed worship for centuries spoke a lot about whatever lord occupied the closest castle. Though she might be wrong about pretty much everything about this world, she wouldn't bet on it. Haven was on its own.

And ripe for the picking. Jack instinctively knew what she could do, what every dragon could do. Thralls were merely those whose will were whittled away. The high dragon's death did not allow the thralls to regain their free will. It only resulted in an absence of control. In order to let the cultists function somewhat normally again, a new influence had to settle in amongst them. Someone.. like herself.

'_But… heck.. do I even want to become a cultist leader?'_

To take charge of Haven was to assume responsibility, something which she vehemently avoided all her life. To tie her life to this village, directing her newly devoted peons to do boring tasks like preparing harvests was not what she had thought herself to be doing. This was Shepard's alley, not hers. She was a fighter, a scrapper, a survivor, not a born leader and administrator. She did not even crave the power she could wield, or desired any of the riches that would come with such a job. She was Jack, a fucked up bitch who needed no one and sure as hell nothing of any of this bullshit.

Still, to leave children to their fates when she could have intervened was too heavy a burden on her consciousness, which she didn't realize she had until now. Jack had no qualms about killing mercs, raiders, Cerberus goons or even Alliance personnel. Those people chose their line of work, accepting the risks that would entail in their line of work. Here though, she supposed even the cultists had no choice, as they were likely forced into drinking the dragon blood as their parents had done before them. They were all children in the end, even Kolgrim. It seemed strange to think of the thralls as infants, but that made the necessity to take charge more palatable.

'_I'll just.. I'll just see what I can do so these kids won't grow up like me. Besides, I might be able to learn more about this fucked up world and find a way back to my own reality.'_

Twilight was already settling in as she jumped off the ledge to glide down towards the lonely child. Her landing was rough, but she was happy enough she retained her boots, which scraped along the rocky surface. The noise she made attracted the teary-eyed girl's attention, who stared wide-eyed at Jack.

The killer addressed the child as gently as she could. "Your father.. he's dead. He's never going to wake."

She had to say it. The girl predictably went all out in her cry, and Jack was smart enough to let herself be hugged by the girl as she needed comfort. It was strange to treat children this way. The Omega station and other seedy places had lots of kids as well, but never did she felt anything for those little street brats. Of course, those little imps were all street thugs in training, and hardly desired any hugs or kisses. This girl though, this little soft sad creature somehow opened up a tiny crack of her heart. All those times when she cried against the window in her cell to the passing children beyond, she thought she was all alone and unloved, and she was right for no one ever tried to hug her or whisper her to sleep. The kid in her arms was likely suffering from similar emotions, emotions which Jack never wished upon any child.

When the girl passed into a sob-choked sleep, Jack laid her down gently on an uncovered rock and wrapped a spare cloak tight around the body. She looked at the mass of stupefied cultists before her and sighed to herself. She had a lot of work to do to convert the thralls to her cause. She first approached the most recognizable of the bunch, Kolgrim with his wild black beard and unique red-stained armor. The man had obviously pissed himself sometime earlier from the yellow stained snow.

The conversion process wasn't difficult. She nicked her finger, then grasped Kolgrim's jaw wide open in order to let the drops of her blood fall upon his tongue. After making sure he swallowed, she stood back and saw the strong man collapse on his knees to convulse. He wasn't the only one affected, for as Kolgrim gasped in pain, Jack felt a small wave of ecstasy washing over her, the pleasure almost euphoric in nature. The high point was almost a climax to her, and she would have fallen unconscious were it not for the noises Kolgrim made as he reasserted himself.

"Hugh… where am I… what am I doing?"

The man sniffed, then made a disgusted noise as he noticed his unclean state. He looked around to see others in a similar position and groaned. Jack recovered from her distraction to notice the man looking about in confusion. She wasn't the only one confused, as her mind felt slightly… off, as if there was something there that wasn't there before. The odd itch was certainly related to the bond she had just made, but what it actually meant, she had no idea. The only thing she could be sure of was that the conversion was successful, and that Kolgrim should have easily latched onto her intrusion in his mind.

"Holy Maker! Andraste!" Kolgrim gasped astonishingly as he laid his eyes on Jack, and immediately went down his knees with his head down in the snow. "Forgive your humble servant for not being presentable! I am not worthy to look upon your next incarnation!"

'_Oh god.'_

"I'm not Andraste, you moron. I'm Jack."

"Whatever you say Andraste!"

After three minutes of trying to make Kolgrim call her Jack, she finally gave up. Apparently, the deranged cultist thought she had accomplished the task he set for her and pour the vial of dragon blood onto the ashes. She was supposed to be the third incarnation of Andraste, ascended from the form of a dragon to retake a mortal shell. The man cited her many tattoos as a proof.

"I am absolutely certain that you are the Maker's wife." He said with a tone of finality and looked up onto Jack with eyes filled with adoration. "My blood calls out to yours. Your divinity is unmistakable."

Was it the dragon blood or the Ashes? Perhaps both, she mused as she remembered what she originally planned to do. "Kolgrim, I need your help."

"Anything milady wishes."

It was unnerving to see the stubborn man on his knees like a lost little puppy. It was even more unnerving to be treated akin to royalty. There were more pressing matters to attend to however, so she brushed her doubts aside.

Though the man seemed to hang onto her every word, she knew how untruths could gnaw away at his sanity. Her ancestors suffered a full-blown rebellion when the magisters of the Tevinter Imperium turned to other sources of faith. For his own sake, she needed to be careful with the story she would be telling to everyone.

"Servant, my form is complete, but my brood isn't. My rise somehow screwed up my link with everyone and turned them into retarded fucks." As far as she knew, the words spitting out of her mouth was pure bullshit. Kolgrim seemed not to notice though. "I'm gonna knock them out of their daze, but you have to be there to explain them what's up."

"As you wish, holy Andraste."

The ordeal went smoothly enough. Her finger kept dripping drops of her blood as she went by each confused cultist. She started with the reavers first, as they seemed to be the strongest and most able to recover. She didn't hang around to wait if the conversion was successful, as darkness began to set in. Kolgrim did a good job explaining the new situation to the newly recovered and organize them to help the others ease their return into the real world.

When she ran out of warriors to bring back, she hesitantly started with the mages. How would they respond to the intake of her blood? Would their magical powers somehow conflict with her own influence? She needn't have worried, as they reacted just the same as any other. Jack herself received the now-familiar wave of pleasure over her, though the sensation was slightly more intense.

Quickly, all the cultists were now converted to her will. The slight pressure in her mind had grown a tiny bit stronger, though it was still barely perceptible. She drew comfort in that presence, as it assured her these men would – for the time being – not turn their blades at her for killing their previous Andraste and so many of their ranks. As far as they were concerned, those deaths were necessary sacrifices.

The cultists had sorted themselves into neat lines, and despite their awful stench, looked quite the army. Kolgrim approached Jack with careful reverence and went down his knees yet again. "Milady, what is your next wish?"

Eying the sleeping bundle nearby, Jack focused on her instructions. Children were lost all about while their unthinking parents stood numb. "My.. servants, there are other people out in the caves and elsewhere who have not been.. enlightened yet. Find them and bring them back so I can snap them out of it. Oh, and find the kids too and take care of them somewhere safe and warm."

The army of cultists answered at once, and quickly went about their business. Kolgrim was good at organizing search parties and directing them to particular areas in the cave or village. With that taken care of, Jack walked over to the girl she had wrapped up in a cloak an hour or so before. The little girl had apparently woken from all the noise the men were making, and looked with bright curiosity at Jack.

"Who are you?"

"Jack, or Andraste."

The girl smiled. "I'm Aliana! Nice to meetcha!" Her smile quickly disappeared though. "Daddy.."

Jack awkwardly bend down to fold Aliana into another hug. She had never felt so warm and so complete except when she had dozed off on Shepard's chest after their lovemaking session. His subsequent betrayal taught her that love wasn't worth the pain, yet as she held the desperate child in her arms, she couldn't bring herself to think like that. Aliana fell asleep again, and Jack held the kid as she raised herself on her feet. She saw an old man watching her at a distance.

"Who're you..? You're the Reverent guy, aren't you?"

The bearded man nodded in respect. "I am Reverent Father Eirik, at your service, oh holy Andraste. Father Kolgrim saw fit for me to attend to you personally."

"Right." That was smart of the man, though she hadn't ordered any of the sort. It showed that these cultists retained some measure of free will. Jack was relieved it wasn't necessary to micromanage every single cultist, though she was slightly worried that these men might one day betray her like so many others. Her inner instincts assured her that nothing of the sort would ever happen. "Well, where are the culti- I mean, _disciples_ taking the ones who haven't taken my blood yet?"

"That would be in the throne room of the main temple, holy prophetess."

"Err okay, take me there."

Before she followed the mage, she picked up the slumbering Aliana and held the little girl carefully over her chest. Eirik said nothing as he patiently waited for Jack. When she was ready, the man guided her slowly back to the caves, going over the same half-collapsed bridge to enter the caves. Inside, they winded through a multitude of dizzying turns. She could hardly keep up her sense of direction, and she was sure she would never find her way in this maze. Eventually, the natural cave structure made way for old, artificial walls. The surroundings were similar to the style used in the Inner Sanctum. As they entered into a huge open hall, she realized this must have been the main temple.

The hall was much like an ancient church. The walls went up forever, and there was a sense of age and endurance. The roof had a few large cracks, letting in piles of snow and a chill wind. The cold would have froze Jack were it not for the large braziers set up around the hall. Close to the raised floor, a large wooden throne was set up, complete with carpets and soft, comfy cushions. The arrangement looked so out of place with the desolation around it that it looked pretentious. Still, she supposed it had an imposing quality to it as well.

"You guys had better fix the roof if you intend to use this dump any further."

"Ah, of course holy Andraste, forgive us for our negligence."

Eirik gave Jack the creeps, if she admitted it to herself. The man seemed to be in her thrall, but the look he gave her sparked more with ambition than any reverence. Kolgrim was much younger, yet he was the overall leader of the cult. There must have been some reason why Eirik was passed over. Perhaps he was more dangerous than anyone could realize. Now that she thought about it, she was surrounded by crazies. It would just take one to sow the seeds of her downfall.

'_Maybe it's better to let this village pick itself up then leave as quickly as possible.'_

As she sat on the cushioned throne, keeping herself occupied by petting the sweet kid on her lap, she didn't actually feel like leaving any time soon. The danger was real, but.. maybe she could use a long overdue vacation.

The cultists continually brought in their dazed brothers and sisters. Jack let her finger drip continually onto a small cup set on her throne's armrest. Whenever the men brought someone in need of the blood, Father Eirik took the cup and let a few drops fall onto the person's waiting mouth. This continued on for much of the night. The ever-growing mob of recovered cultists all helped pitch in with the rescue effort, allowing more men to branch out into more distant farmsteads. Still, many chose to remain in the central hall… to admire Jack herself!

Despite the deaths she had personally caused since her arrival, everyone seemed to be in a jovial mood. They were even bringing in cows to slaughter and roast over the fires! Everyone took her coming as the just reward for centuries of vigilance. They all imagined a new age where she would bring the Maker back to the world of Thedas, whatever that meant. Jack understood little of the religion, and simply let the dumb do their thing while she tried to keep herself awake. The constant euphoric wave after each new bond had lessened in intensity now that she had much more thralls, which relieved her immensely. She couldn't take being brought to the inch of orgasm a few hundred times without going absolutely bonkers.

The children who were brought in for safekeeping were all confused. Those under the age of ten were apparently too young to take any tainted blood. The younger toddlers were all genuinely clueless, but the elder children were more suspicious. Jack even had to demonstrate her biotic powers in order to prevent them from doing anything bad. After that, only a few obstinate hardliners remained, but she supposed that was the best she could hope for. The children who had all lost their parents were in a bad lot as well, all crying out for their parents. The other adults comforted the lost children, claiming that their mommy and daddy had gone back to the Maker in order to allow Andraste to be reborn into human form, but understandably the kids didn't take it too well.

Jack felt like a scumbag as she witnessed the suffering she had caused by killing so many cultists. It was very much different from killing mercs or gang members back in the Terminus Systems, where those kinds of scumbags never thought to settle down and have kids. Killing those fuckers was easy and brought an endless amount of satisfaction. Here, though, everyone had kids, and every kill was bound to make other people miserable. That she was only defending herself of a sorts didn't make her killings much easier to cope. At least a lot of children had uncles and aunts to go to, who welcomed them with open arms. Mostly.

The sun was already up for half an hour when the final lost person, a goat herder, was brought in to be reinitiated. Haven kept a precise tally of its population, and the only ones still missing were either dead or away to trade with other cities. Jack hoped the ones far away would get some help, though the chance that they would be brought back to this village was slim.

Her thoughts were cut off as Kolgrim approached her throne and bent down to his knee. "I have assembled your subjects. Do you wish to speak with them, milady?"

'_Dammit,__ not again.'_ She thought derisively, but outwardly she looked calm and composed. "Yeah sure."

She stood up carefully left Aliana on the throne, before walking forward until she reached the balcony looking down on the masses of converted people. Each person, from simple farmers to the most hardened reavers all looked up at her with wide-eyed worship, and they all went to their knees as Jack held up a hand.

"All hail the return of Andraste!" Kolgrim suddenly announced out at her side, which almost made her jump. The announcement was thunderously echoed by all the people present.

He continued, "My fellow brothers and sisters, long have we toiled in obscurity and isolation in this very pilgrimage. But we shall wait no longer! The Maker has returned to our world, if only briefly, and has brought to us his holy wife! Rejoice in her presence, for a new era is at hand!"

The loud roar of exultation buffeted Jack like a tsunami. It was hard for her to stay calm and composed like the good divine maiden she was pretending to be when she really wanted to bash Kolgrim's head in for all these theatrics. The nagging doubt at her mind grew as she realized how utterly deceitful she was. How could she ever claim to be the wife of a great god?

_'Ah, whatever, I didn't become the meanest bitch around by fumbling around.'_

The cult leader nodded his head to her, signaling that now was the time to speak. Hoping she wouldn't botch this up too much, she spoke. "I have returned."

That was all that needed to be said, as the crowd went wild. Jack felt much like a rockstar in a music concert. The crowd's adulation almost threatened to go right up her head. Only the fact that she wouldn't be sticking around long enough for her to become delusional made her keep her distance. Now that these crazies regained enough of their senses to clean their own shit, she had to send them away.

"Return to your homes, clean yourselves up, and celebrate, for tomorrow you have all have a long day ahead of yourselves."

After a few agonizing minutes of prayers led by brother Eirik, the crowd eventually dispersed, bringing the tired children with them. Even Aliana had a pair of grandparents who could take her in. Seeing that girl's hopeful smile directed at her – as if she could bring the world to right and resurrect her parents – sickened her heart. Now that the village was back on its feet, was it really alright to stay and continue this charade? There was an entire world beyond this mountain range, and there must be some place which would hold the key to getting back to her own universe. The question was, could she do it alone, or did she need the resources these cultists could offer?

Well, she wasn't in a hurry to get away. She turned, meeting the hopeful gazes of a small group of seniors. "You guys must be the bosses of this bunch, right?"

"Erm," Kolgrim looked slightly befuddled at Jack's choice of words. "We are indeed the governing council who rule over the Disciples of Andraste and the village of Haven. If I may make a small request, would you be willing to retire somewhere more comfortable to discuss some.. more practical matters, milady?"

"Sure."

They retreated to a very luxurious looking side chamber. The rest of the huge temple might seem to fall apart, but at least the cultists still had some style. The rich flowing red carpets crunched softly under her hard boots. The surrounding tapestries, all red and emblazed in the sigil of a dragon, further added to the richness of her surroundings. The men and women that led the cult all streamed into the room and took their places along a long, rectangular table that was as black as obsidian. Kolgrim headed to the seat at head of the table, but only merely stood at its side. Was that his usual seat? Accepting the unspoken invitation, Jack calmly seated herself there when the man pulled out the seat. The meeting had begun.

"Oh blessed Andraste, We would first like to know the answer of one important question, one that must likely occupy the entire village." A soft, grey-haired woman began. She nodded towards Jack in a sign of utmost respect but not blind worship. "I am Janys, the stock keeper. The question is, is your return a sign that the uncaring Maker will return to the world of Thedas? Is our isolation over and can we spread the word of your third coming to the lands around us?"

Damn. She hardly knew anything about this Andraste and Maker shit, but already she needed that knowledge. Still, a bit of lying could make them back off. "Don't misunderstand me and my.. resurrection. The Maker doesn't give a f-.. I mean, he's not returning yet. I'm a woman, not a god. I can be killed just like any of you. The world isn't ready to know about me yet, so don't go blabbering off to your neighbors."

Janys nodded solemnly. "Of course. The Chantry has not spread to the four corners of the world yet. There are many lands beyond the impassable oceans that have never heard the word of the Maker. Only when they too are converted will the Maker deem us worthy."

'_Hmph, what bull crap. That's just a good excuse to spread this religion.'_

"So anyway, I'm curious. How far has the Chantry reached? Do you have a map somewhere here to point me out?"

A rolled up map was quickly retrieved from a small shelf by Kolgrim. He laid it out in front of her, and Jack could see for the first time the shape of this foreign world. It didn't look anything like Earth, or any other colony she was familiar with. The continent – probably a quarter to an eight of the size of this world – looked like a goblin eating a hamburger. There was one prominent mark on the Frostback Mountains west of the country named Ferelden. Was this were Haven was situated? The whitish coloring at the bottom indicated that this continent was situated at the southern hemisphere of this world.

Brother Eirik, just to her left, began to explain. "I hope you will be pleased to hear that the Tevinter Imperium is not as great as it once was, and that it has converted to the Chantry, although not _our _Chantry. The Imperial Chantry is a perversion of your word, electing male mages as their supreme Divine. Ferelden, Orlais, Anderfels, Nevarra and the rest of Thedas are governed by the Chantry of Andraste, organized in Val Royeaux in Orlais. It is they whose word have been faithful to you, milady. It is also they who we must suborn and force to accept your coming, for the Orlesians hold much ill will towards us Fereldans. They even claim that you are not of Ferelden descent, the nerve!"

Ferelden, Orlais, Tevinter Imperium; they were all just names on a map. At least she got a better picture of this world. She had to study up more to be able to make sense of it all. Later.

"Looks like the Chantry has a long way to go."

"Indeed, milady."

"So anyway," She began, wanting to set the topic before any of them could ask something else she didn't have a clue on. "What do you guys expect you'll be doing now that I've returned to this world?"

Her sudden question took them all aback. One heavyset fellow down the table who introduced himself as Connor, the owner of the local lumber mill, answered first. "Why, spend our days in worship and paradise, milady. Is that not which you have promised in your second incarnation?"

"No." She answered, wanting to add 'idiots' or 'fuckwads', but she was controlled enough to contain herself. This was not the time to flip them off. "I already told you, I'm not a god. I can't make wine from thin air or wave gold from my hands. You guys still have to harvest crops, chop wood, cook dinner and sleep every day. Nothing has changed."

The disappointment in everyone's mind was openly apparent. Jack wanted to scoff at their gullible thoughts. Religious nuts were always somewhat ignorant.

"But, but, you're the Maker's wife! There is none holier but the Maker himself!" The big man continued, his eyes glancing desperately around him. "We MUST march up to Val Royeaux and depose the Orlesian Divine in order to-"

"Shut it!" She exploded and slammed the table for emphasis. Everyone in the room jumped at her explosive temper. Connor himself looked about to piss himself, realizing who he was talking to. Jack eyed everyone with a steely gaze. "I'm the boss here now, not you guys. What I say is what goes, is that clear?"

Everyone nodded, cowed at the fear she exuded. No one had imagined Andraste was as.. direct as this. Were the histories wrong?

"Now, here's what I want you guys to do. First, don't go making pretentious decisions like marching up to this Val Royoo and get yourself and me killed. Second, don't spend all day worshipping me and the Maker, since there's no one around to feed you otherwise."

It sounded so basic to her, but she knew it was not enough for these cultists. They had to keep themselves occupied long enough for her to get what she wanted from these losers. "You guys have a long way to go before you can do anything else. For starters, what's up with this temple?"

"Ah, milady," Kolgrim replied nervously. "Since your second coming, our ancestors and us were tasked with taking care of your.. _children_. We did not have the resources nor manpower necessary to repair the structure. We give our greatest apologies to you for disappointing you, milady."

A superior smirk touched her face. It would take the cultists years to patch up this dump. "Well, you can make amends by bringing it back up the way it used to be. At least fix the holes in the roof. I have no intention of living in a freezer."

The rest of the meeting revolved around more mundane issues, from the allocation of workers to fix up the temple, to the arrangements of a new daily prayer. Manpower for the temple was plenty. The reavers, once used to guard the dragon roost and kill unsuspecting visitors, could instead use their immense strength in the stone quarry and construction site. Haven always had an oversized contingency of warriors, to the point that even the local lord was outmatched. The village was always one step away from war, and Jack found this extreme ridiculous. The people weren't actually at war with anyone. Hardly anybody even knew this tiny mountainside town existed, and even if they did, they hardly had any reason to visit. The only dangers to note were occasional 'darkspawn' raids popping out from the deep roads, whatever that was, but they were few and far in between.

Living quarters for herself was settled. She would stay in Kolgrim's former quarters, the warmest and most luxurious room available in short notice. On the downside, she'd be forced to spend an hour attending one of Reverent Father Eirik's daily sermon. At least she held off the requests to address the crowd herself, citing the excuse that they weren't worthy to hear her opinions yet. They took it all in stride.

The meeting finally ended shortly after that. All the council members were reluctant to leave the room, as if Jack's presence was fickle and could be gone the next day. How close to the truth they were, she thought as she put on a fake smile and shook everyone's hand on the way out. Only Kolgrim and Eirik, the two she deemed most senior, remained in the room. The meeting had bored and tired her greatly, but there was one more matter to arrange.

Turning to face them, she posed her most important request. "I am.. really out of touch. I need to see your library and catch up to what has happened these last few ages."

The two look oddly at one another. Eirik answered, "Of course, milady. You can use my library in the Chantry down below the pass."

"Hrgh.. I don't think I can walk any further." She muttered as she brushed a hand against her eyes. "I really need to crash in a bed. Just bring the most useful history books to my room and I'll go over them once I've had my beauty sleep."

Her new sleeping chamber was not too far away, fortunately. She didn't bother slipping into the covers of the queen-sized bed, but merely dropped dead on its soft, feather mattress. Her sleep was deep but blissfully dreamless.

* * *

Holy Fuck. That was all in her mind as she read the principal history of the continent of Thedas. Magisters, Tevinter Imperium, Old Gods, Exalted Marches, Chantry, Andraste. She had thought that her phony identification was merely an obscure character in a small isolated cult. It turned out that this Andraste was universally revered by pretty much everyone on Thedas. She was in much deeper shit than she thought, and she might even be in for more if word ever gets out. For as long as she and her rather memorable tattoos remain unconnected with the divine presence of Andraste, she might reasonably expect to wander the world in solitude. If her description did became common knowledge however, that option was over.

This made it more difficult for her to disentangle herself from the cult's affairs. The thought of staying stuck forever with these bunch of idiots made her dive into the books again, eager to absorb more knowledge about this strange, cold world. She read the Chantry, about the Maker and Mages. She read a brief history of Ferelden, of how King Calenhad united the barbarian tribes, to the Orlesian occupation and its recent liberation by King Maric. The most interesting pieces were on the darkspawn and the Blights. The terrible narrative, unusually detailed descriptions and general gloom and horror in the book almost made her think it was just a piece of fantastic fiction. Father Eirik's assured her firmly that the darkspawn were very real and could pose a credible danger to the entire world. Word had already reached Haven that the latest darkspawn horde rising to the surface might be a full-blown raid, but only Grey Wardens believed that to be true.

Ah, the Grey Wardens. An entire book was dedicated to this ancient order. She only skimmed it of course, but what she had managed to catch sounded a lot like Citadel Spectres. They were neutral, independent, and battled threats for the collective benefit of all the nation-states. Unlike the Spectres, the Grey Wardens did not battle any other threat, only keeping vigilant during the long breaks. The last Blight had happened over four hundred years ago and even the author of the book professed doubt whether a new one would ever appear. Ferelden's Grey Warden chapter was in an especially sorry state due to their involvement in a rebellion against a king. She sure as hell didn't want to be one of those bums if a new Blight did began to emerge.

'_Well, it's not in my backyard.'_

She had what she needed, a greater understanding of this medieval and magical world. If she read any more books, she'd be liable to turn into Mordin. No, enough of the histories. She needed to find something else, something which she could use to get home. Now where could she find out how to travel to other realities?

"Eirik, you're a mage, right?"

"I… yes, milady." The man looked uncomfortable, and was unwilling to meet her eyes. "It is the principle reason why I was not chosen to succeed Kolgrim's predecessor."

Ah, she almost forgot. _Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him_.

"Well, I got a question for ya."

"My knowledge is at your disposal, holy Andraste."

"Do you know anything about alternate realities and how to travel there?"

It took a long time to explain the concept of alternate realities to Eirik. She eventually just told him that it just meant other worlds the Maker had created.

"Ah, I see now." The Reverent Father said. "You mean the outer realms, of life beyond the material world. Amongst the mages, it is known that several books have been written about this topic by an ancient Tevinter magister."

"Does your library have this book?"

"No… regrettably I have not. It is a terrible and forbidden book, for it requires the use of blood magic. I have heard of only one existing copy."

"Where?"

"The Circle Tower at Lake Calenhad."

"…Shit."

* * *

**End Notes: **Writing about Jack is harder than it seems, since in the game there isn't much detail on her past. We get general ideas, gists and hints, but no little concrete data except for that little trip to the Cerberus facility. Still, I like Jack, and I can always fill in the gaps myself. There is just something about her that makes me relish the challenge of finding out how she became the person she is today.


	3. I'm fucked

April 21, 2010  
Revised: July 26, 2011  
By RahXephon [847246]

**Author's Notes:** I find it interesting that some people are familiar with only Dragon Age, while others are only familiar with Mass Effect. If you guys loved one of the two, you should definitely go buy the other game, or at least as soon as they're in discount. They're both made by BioWare, the current God-Emperor of RPGs. Sure, their styles of gameplay might differ drastically, but their stories are solid and their characterization is excellent as always.

* * *

_**Dragon Age: Jack Effect**_

_I'm fucked_

* * *

The first week went quiet as far as Jack was concerned. The recovered cultists fawned over her like she was royalty, and she let herself enjoy the trappings of power. After spending her entire life as a victim of those at the top, being there herself was quite a remarkable change. For once, she understood the rush of power, the appeal of having an army of underlings fawn over your wishes. She could practically order them all to strip naked and dance in the snow if she wanted to. Not that she actually considered it. The memories of that god-ugly mess with Jacob's father were still fresh in her mind. Seeing the same kind of suffering in those women's eyes like she had experienced made her want to tear the man's head off, but Shepard stopped her from doing so, saying he needed to face 'true' justice. Feh.

Though she hardly cared for most of the cultists' well-being, as the days went on, it became harder for her not to care for her men. Kolgrim was a tireless leader, planning much of the restoration of the main temple himself and organizing the cremation of the fallen men. Eirik tended to the spiritual and administrative matters, keeping the wheels greased and commerce flowing. He was the one who directed the re-opening of an abandoned quarry. Strong combat-ready reavers put down their axes and swords only to take up pickaxes and chisels. Archers kept their eyes peeled not for intruders, but on the myriad of game prowling all over the mountain lands. Her small surviving contingent of apostates busied themselves with mundane tasks, such as creating rain for crops or lifting stones to aid in the reconstruction effort.

The quiet didn't last very long. Over the past days, a small trickle of distant relatives arrived from the surrounding villages in the windswept bann. It seemed that the tiny community of Haven wasn't as insular as Jack thought. The newcomers were mostly distant second-removed cousins and the like who weren't that much into the cult's beliefs. Only the exaggerated stories of their brainwashed relatives convinced them enough to see the miracle for themselves, and the moment they took their eyes on Jack – or rather her tattoos – they begged her to grant them her lifeblood.

"What the hell! Are you insane? You'll go crazy if you'll drink my blood. Don't screw up your fucking life man."

"But am I not worthy, holy Andraste?"

She wanted to slap her forehead. "What a bunch of fucktards." She muttered, but quickly looked back at the old grandpa kneeling in front of her almost naked form. "Get out. Get a life. This place ain't got any room for you useless dicks."

And with that final address, she turned and left the small bunch of travelers behind at the edge of the village. The few remaining guards blocked the newcomer's paths and admonished them to turn back.

Jack should have realized the repercussions of her act. She should have known how important the words of a universally worshipped savior would be taken. As the evening approached, one of her pickets burst into the meeting chamber and relayed the ugly news. Her blood ran cold as she instantly brought up her cloak and marched outside to see it for herself.

A single caravan smoldered alongside the main road. The several men and women who had sought new hope in Haven but were turned away had been found not far from the burning wreck. They had all hanged themselves under a large tree. Their lolling tongues and lifeless eyes stared lifelessly Jack as if they accused her of causing this madness.

Especially the little boy.

Did he hang himself voluntarily, or did his parents forced him down while they pulled the noose over him? She stepped back, bumping against Kolgrim who stood at her side. She looked at him with horror, and he looked back with unreadable sadness.

'_Is this all my fault? Is my charade causing more misery and death than if I just went up and leave? Am I turning into another Ronald Taylor?'_

The guilt and fear had torn into her heart and almost crunched it dead. She couldn't bear to look upon the mess she had instigated with her careless remarks. Without another word, she left her escort behind and ran out into the dark. Kolgrim and her bodyguards warned of the risks of tripping in the dark, but Jack paid no heed to the words as tears began to sting her eyes. She jumped over fallen logs and sidestepped the many rocky outcrops in her way. Her run, as swift as a wolf's and frantic as a deer's, led her deeper into the wilderness. The faint light of the stars lit up the silhouettes of the trees and brushes as she passed, all silent but for the rustle of their leafs.

Long before her steam ran out, she stopped and collapsed in the dirt. Jack sat there for a long time, neither moving nor crying. How could she had let this go so far? Was this what leaders saddled with responsibility such as Shepard faced in their lives? The price of power seemed to steep if she had to handle these kinds of incidents every day. She was half-minded to turn her back completely on the village of Haven and let them live their wacky cult days in peace. After all, did they even need her? Kolgrim, Eirik and the rest of the council were the real leaders. She was just a figurehead, a symbol for those wretches to latch on to. A dumb fuck like her couldn't run an entire village community by itself, and heck, she wouldn't even know what to do with her army of inbred sheep.

'_What a moron I've been. All that power and luxury... but for what.'_

Jack was never much of a leader. She had always been a follower. She had been from the very first moment of her life. There had always been someone else to look up to. From the Cerberus operatives who beat her up and forced her to kill other kids, to Commander Shepard, Savior of the Citadel the big fricking hero of mankind, who brainwashed her into joining his suicide mission. For much of her life, there had always been someone to guide her or force her to do their whim. Every time she ended up alone she always manage to screw herself up. This time was no exception to that rule.

What was she going to do? She hadn't planned on leaving for a month at least, but the thought of returning to that village revolted her more than anything else at the moment. For her entire life, she was a killer. Even when she didn't mean to, death always seemed to follow her footsteps. Staying more than she had to would only invite more misfortune on the innocent. Was it better to slit her throat right now and save this world the trouble?

Her hand went to the ceremonial dagger gifted to her by Eirik, but as she grasped the cool dragonbone hilt, her emotions took another turn.

'_These people need me. They can't live without me anymore. My blood is in their blood, my will is in their will. If I'd leave right now, will the cultists follow the dead travelers in their sorrow?"_

The uncertainty was as oppressive as the darkness around her. How simpler her life had been back in Citadel space. There, she could just drink a milkshake without causing an explosion. Here, she felt as if a single sneeze from her nose could trigger a plague. How could she prevent such mistakes from reoccurring?

Shepard wouldn't trouble himself with these doubts. He was the natural leader, the prodigy spacer who learned everything about ships from mere shipboard tutorials. There was no one more perfect than John fucking Shepard, the System Alliance's most celebrated war hero since he single-handedly held back a horde of Batarian slavers during the Skyllian Blitz. He took to leading men like a fish in water. The way he projected authority and bad-assness at the same time had stayed Jack from killing off the handsome bastard since they first met on the prison ship. There was just something about him, how he always tried to talk with his crew, how he always seemed to care for their problems and worries. Did he also learn that from a tutorial program, or were people like him simply born to become a leader?

"How do you do it? How can you be so confident? How can you foresee the consequences of your every move?"

Knowing that he had been spotted, Kolgrim stepped closer and carefully knelt in front of his holy savior. The thought that this fragile young woman might not be Andraste – who once led a movement that had crippled the mighty Tevinter Imperium – did not occur in his mind. Reincarnation was an esoteric process even for Eirik. This woman might not have all the confidence and life experiences of the prophetess in her omnipotent glory, but her soul was certain to be as pure. Perhaps this was another trial of the Maker, to see whether humanity would be able to accommodate Andraste instead of betraying her as her husband had done. The woman was so like Andraste but so very vulnerable. Kolgrim resolved not to be her Maferath.

With that in mind, he spoke carefully. "There is no magic to leadership. We simply do. You will accustom yourself in your new duties in time, I am sure. But, I beg of you milady, let the disturbance of this night be a lesson, not a punishment. The travelers did not obey your directives and envied those who stood for centuries at your side. Their arrogance caused their deaths, not you."

Her fists clenched. "Does that make it better if those dweebs found some lame excuse? What about the little kid! Did he deserve his fate due to his arrogance? Did he?"

"Milady…" Kolgrim started, but trailed off as even he could not find a satisfying explanation.

"I thought so."

The night was quiet. Only the faint whispers of the wind brushed their ears as they kept their silence.

The man eventually eased his knees and sat down in front of his prophetess, shifting his weapon strapped to his back to make himself more comfortable. He started to spin a tale.

"Once… when I was in my youth, when the fire of your blood burned brightest within my soul, I faced a test of resolve. A group of Nevarran dragon hunters had somehow received word on your dragon incarnation, and they were searching the entire southern Frostback Mountains for you. As your extensive brood had been leaving quite a few tracks in their hunting jaunts, it was only a matter of time before the hunters would catch onto your trail. To prevent them from succeeding, our huntmaster brought eight reavers and two mages to face the foreigners in battle."

Kolgrim looked at his hands with an almost imperceptible softness in his eyes. "I was one of them, just a young hot-headed axe-wielder at the time. There was nothing else I wanted more than to slay your enemies in your name. I thought it would be easy to track down this group and cut them down where they stood. After all, how could ordinary mortal compare to our enlightened Andraste-blessed souls?" Chuckling uneasily, he continued, "How utterly wrong I was. The season took an unexpected turn, bringing storms upon storms upon our expedition. The snow piled up, dragging down our feet, exhausting our energy and taking a toll on everyone. It was my first experience of death… and it was a mage who succumbed. They were always confident, even more than I was. The fellow was hardly older than me, but his boots had slipped…"

"How did you take it? Your first sight of death?" Jack remembered her own experience, back when she was just beginning to learn how to read. She shuddered, brushing away the memories of her time in the experimental facility.

"Bad. Very bad. I had always thought we were invincible. We had your blessing, your devotion. How could we be defeated? When that mage had fallen off down the cliffs, my beliefs were almost shattered. Others amongst my age felt the same as well, and the mood amongst us quickly soured. The huntmaster continued to lead us on despite the perils, determined to protect you from those Nevarrans by himself if needed be. He was used to hunting alone or with other hunters, and he thought that us noisy reavers were a hindrance to his performance. He did nothing to console us or guide us. It was no surprise then that our first battle against the foreigners took an unfortunate turn."

The way Kolgrim described his first real fight against other humans was wrenching. Despite his pious dedication and his rigorous training, he admitted to himself that he was inexperienced and naïve. The Nevarrans weren't stupid. They targeted the huntmaster first, crippling his arm and punching an arrow through his thigh. Without his coordination and support, the group quickly devolved into primal uncoordinated fury. Kolgrim and his groupmates let the blood overtake him, pumping up their bodies and attacking the experienced dragon hunters with reckless abandon. He himself stormed off towards a knight who wielded a wickedly huge greatsword. By the time the reavers was halfway towards his first swing however, the knight simply let the axe blade slide across his sword, leaving Kolgrim wildly off balance. He could do nothing as a firm kick to his chest threw his body down a small tumble.

"Most of my comrades were killed. A few others fell down the ditch besides me. Our group was defeated, struck down like bugs by five tanned foreigners. The shame as we lay amongst the rocks caused far more pain than our bruises and cuts. We had failed you, holy Andraste, and we were without any hope. The sun fell beneath the horizon as we begged for deliverance. None came, of course, and we were all alone amongst ourselves. We were wallowing amongst ourselves, doing nothing to prevent the Nevarrans from reaching your nest. Deep inside of myself, a faint conviction burned within me, one that told me to seek the hunters and face them again despite facing even worse odds. There was no other way to atone ourselves for the sin of Pride. But no one spoke out. We all looked at each other, but none of us knew what to do. We had no pride left to make any decisions."

Kolgrim stood up again, pacing the small clearing with fire in his eyes. "That was when I realized it, as if you had granted me that vision yourself. We were Andraste's chosen, _your_ chosen, and we would go through any length to protect your mortal existence. We were capable, better than those Nevarran hunters, but with the huntmaster dead, nothing brought that out. So I stood, lifting myself up the snow, and howled at the remnant of my party to remind them of their duties. I beat, bullied and herded them back towards our village, tracking the trail of hunters as best we could. At first, everyone protested, preferring death by starvation."

It took some while, but eventually Kolgrim's group started to shape up. They trekked the mountains, tracking the Nevarran trail and finding alternate paths when the snow covered it up. Three days after their disastrous first fight, they came upon the travelers.

"We were ready to storm up and take our revenge, but our most squeamish member, Fern, was frightened and refused to go after us. We were furious at his cowardice, and one of our numbers was even ready to slit his throat. Not just our honor was at stake in our revenge. We had taken a sacred oath to dedicate our lives to your glory. The sight of one of our members refusing to take that promise seriously had boiled our blood into maddening rage."

If Jack was in such a position herself, she'd done the same thing. Kolgrim didn't however.

"The rage had blinded me, and a small part of myself was aware of it. It remembered the last time I let myself be consumed, and horror shook me out of my rage. Before I knew it, I threw my body over Fern, protecting him against the anger of my group members. I… I cannot speak what happened next.. but after that, we had all calmed down. The men resented me, disliked my meddling and doubted my authority. In fact, I had no authority to speak of. I was one of the youngest actually. But the oldest member did nothing. He actually had no plan at all, only a desire to salvage his honor by throwing away his life. When he bellowed towards the others to charge right into the dragon hunters, I took action against him and let my voice be felt."

He reminded the others that their goal was the prevent the Nevarrans from reaching Haven, not get themselves killed in futility. With only six warriors left, they were no match against the vastly superior foreigners. They had to fight smarter in order to win. They had to ambush the intruders in the most favorable position possible.

Chuckling again, he continued, "It turned out that Fern supplied us with the best choice of options. He was familiar with the cliffs the Nevarrans were approaching. The others weren't so keen on taking on his word, but I persuaded them to believe him. With his help, we scaled a shortcut and followed a side-route that took us up over the path of the hunters. Fern eventually led us up a crag that looked right over the road. It was perfect."

His group prepared for the ambush as the hunters were merely a couple of hours away. They rolled large rocks in position, dragging them hundreds of meters ahead and sometimes uphill to get them positioned at the most effective killing paths. He himself dug a primitive pit in the path, then covered the narrow fall with his cloak and let the snow cover it up.

"The trap unfolded exactly as we planned. The rocks tumbled down the cliff, crunching two of the enemies in their unstoppable rolling journey. The other three had scrambled away. One fell in the pit I had dug, and the other two were running back the way they came, right into our waiting arms as we slipped down a slope and met them in battle. I rallied my group, calling upon your name to smite your enemies down. The Nevarrans were stricken, so fearful that they couldn't stand a match against us. It was a glorious slaughter."

The smile on Kolgrim's face was reminiscent. "If.. if I had let my rage consume me.. if I did not speak out for my group.. none of us would have survived. I am sure of it. From that day on, I became a new man, a better man. I had realized the true secret of leadership: initiative. You cannot possibly know everything or do everything yourself, but every person is always good in something. Talented and knowledgeable people are all around us, but their potential will stay unused if there is no one to bring out the best of these men and women. Simply being a pillar of hope is enough to set things in motion. Each time I look upon my men, I remind myself of that battle and remember how we prevailed."

It was a powerful story, one that made her look back her own experiences, Jack thought to herself. More importantly, the tale shed off a few mysteries about leading people. In a way, she recognized a few parts of the tale. Bringing out the best of people had always been Commander Shepard's talent. Did he also suffer something in his past like Kolgrim that made him the paragon he was today? Could she also learn to lead like him? She didn't think it was worth gaining it if it came at the cost of a disaster. There was enough suffering amongst innocents already, and she wasn't enthusiastic on piling up an entire mountain of grief. Everywhere she went she left corpses. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a few henchmen or partners, but those people always betrayed her in the end. Being at the top for once didn't fill her with too much confidence. Her blood ensured the loyalty of her minions, but how much could she trust on this incredibly arcane mechanism? She was hardly a dragon, let alone a mage. There were too many risks and too many unknowns.

She wasn't worth it. She had zero leadership ability and was just too dangerous to be around with. Haven didn't deserve her bad luck.

"What do you think? Am I better off staying here or out wandering the world?" Jack asked apprehensively.

Her escort looked shocked. "Milady! You cannot possibly entertain such a reckless action!"

"What are you talking about? Reckless, ha! I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. At least I would only be killing bandits and other scum who try to mess with me instead of innocent peasants."

Kolgrim let out a large sigh as he realized his next words might determine the fate of Andraste and the world at large. For her sake, and for everyone's sake, humanity must not fail the test the Maker had set upon them.

"Andraste, you do not have to bear this burden alone. Even the mightiest of emperors have advisors at their side. Let us help you as Fern had helped me when he offered to guide us through the mountains. We offer our council to you, for that is what we are for. If you are fearful for unforeseen consequences, then let others foresee them for you and advise you with the most appropriate course of action. Even Andraste – you – did not vanquish over the Imperium by yourself."

Though he could not see her expression, Jack nevertheless narrowed her eyes into slits. "What use am I if all the real decisions are made by others? I'll never be a good leader for your people at that rate. Just kill me now and—"

"I beg of you, milady, do not speak such morbid words! You are anything but useless! You are our queen, our inspiration and our very purpose of existence. As a symbol of enlightenment and salvation, you are destined to lead our people's return to the Maker's side. Even as a dormant presence, the Orlesian Chantry has acted adequately on your behalf and spread the word of the Maker to many lands. Let us prove to you our worth."

'_Dickhead… it's all a lie.. I'm not the Andraste you think I am. I'm a nobody, a loser, a punching bag, not some savior who could bring back your paradise.'_

"You know what?" Jack began as she regained some of her strength. "Fuck you. Fuck Haven. Fuck this fucking cult. Fuck this fucking ugly-ass world! I can see now why this Maker dude hates this god-forsaken planet!"

"Milady, what are you saying! Are we not worthy of salvation?"

Were they or weren't they? It was so infuriating for Jack that these people couldn't do anything without the approval of a god. Back in the Systems Alliance, nobody cared a damn who believed in what. In fact, most people were never even brought up with a religion. And who needed them? Cults were nothing but greedy blood-sucking scams. Even the Disciples of Andraste was nothing but a mere bunch of slaves to the high dragon that kept them enthralled. These guys were such morons that she should have never become involved with them in the first place.

But… morons or not, they were desperate for hope. If she left, someone else take her place. That someone might have less constraint than herself. Something was holding her back from abandoning the Havenites.

Something called responsibility.

Jack remembered that old cliché she saw off a holo about some red dude swinging around with strings. _With great power comes great responsibility_. Cheesy as hell, but it might not be such a bad idea after all. She was the one who freed these enslaved people from the mercies of the dragon in the first place. Would she be leaving her job half-done?

Then there were the more practical – selfish – concerns. The dragon blood and holy ashes in her bloodstream did wonders to her biotic reserves. Her control was less than stellar, but her massive output made up plenty in that. There must be plenty more sources of power in this world. The mages seemed to be hiding dozens of them in their hidden books and tombs. Heck, Kolgrim even had a cryo-sword stashed in his trunk. The drakeskin leather outfit that the armorers were almost finishing crafting would make her practically invincible to fire. She had seen the effects herself. Materials existed in this world that could rival the most expensive alloys in Citadel space. Heck, she was even tempted to find out more about the wonders of the so-called 'lyrium-folding' process.

If she wanted to find a way back to her own reality and become powerful enough to defeat Shepard and his snoozy big-titted whore, then she would need the full resources of this world. Returning back to Citadel space was one challenge in itself; killing Shepard was another. That man was practically invincible, having defeated Geth, Mercenaries, Reapers, Collectors and even death itself.

'_Do they need me? Do I need them?_'

…

'_Yes._'

Her hands suddenly grasped Kolgrim's chest piece, dragging his frame towards her own. "You know what? If you guys want me so much, then you'll get me, all of me. BUT, this is going to be MY show and we're all going to do this MY way. Comprende?"

She then let him go, pushing back the man. Kolgrim recovered quickly and bowed low in front of her. "Milady, whatever you desire, we will endeavor to provide you with it. We are yours to command."

"Good."

* * *

From that day on, she had eased the restrictions on the need for secrecy and instead focused on expanding her village's strength. With the helpful advice of her council members, she enacted many changes that would change the very pattern of life of Haven. The trickle of newcomers quickly grew into a stream. Dozens of people – either very devout or simply down on their luck – were looking for a new life in the nucleus of Andraste's supposed place of rebirth. Jack didn't care who came in as long as they brought something useful. They all partook in Jack's blood, and Jack stopped caring about the brainwashing she was forcing upon these numbskulls. She always insisted on explaining the full repercussions to the hopeful arrivals and emphasized that that there was no turning back, but that hardly fazed the newcomers. The few level-headed locals who did manage to sum up the will to refuse were politely turned back. She might risk another mass-suicide, but at this point security was essential and the loyalty of _all _her subjects had to be ensured.

Besides, the added strength the people received from her blood made them vastly more productive. Their muscles grew stronger and their endurance improved thrice fold. Their mind had sharpened as well, allowing them to become more mentally focused in their tasks and become less distracted. The output of the quarry and lumber mills grew so fast that she could afford to pull out the original reavers from their labor and put them back into guard duty. Much of the excess uneducated labor that continued to arrive every day was scattered over the temple, restoring it to its former glory with remarkable speed and quality. Already a human architect and a few mercenary dwarven stonemasons were pouring over plans of adding additional houses. At her own request, they even considered adding defenses such as walls and guard towers, but houses seemed to be the top priority at the moment. Haven's rapid growth caused living spaces to become increasingly scarcer. There was plenty of room in the temple and the caves, but they hardly served to house permanent families.

Food was the most pressing short-term problem. Haven's few expansive but non-intensive farms were meant to produce enough food stock to ensure self-sufficiency, with a healthy but limited surplus in case of crop failures. With the ever-increasing influx of cultists, the current harvest would never last the upcoming winter. More farmland could be tilled next spring, but that did not help their current state. They needed to import more food.

That brought its own set of problems. Food needed to be bought or traded. To buy them, they needed a lot of hard currency or something valuable to trade. The village had never been much of a trading center, and there was nothing they knew of in the surrounding countryside that was valuable enough to mine or extract. Sure, the mountains probably held a lot of rich veins of ore. The trouble was finding them. Of all the recent immigrants, none of them were mineral surveyors. A few miners were already scouting the area, but they needed a real professional to get a profitable operation going quickly.

With no money, they couldn't buy any food. It was as simple as that. The only other valuable resource they could potentially trade off was the dragon materials harvested off the high dragon and the remnants of her brood. Jack was hesitant to use them up immediately. She might need to use them to outfit her army, or trade them for the priceless artifacts that were needed to bring her back to Citadel space. She preferred to depend on more sustainable source of income.

'_What else can this stinking village produce? We got a few blacksmiths, a few tanners, some artistic wood carvers, but nothing big. This whole village was setup to keep nosy people away. Trade with others had always been virtually nil.'_

Only the quarry and lumber mills produced goods in large quantities, but Ferelden was practically brimming with wood and stone. To earn any actual coin, they needed to produce something rare. What else could Haven provide to the world?

She was a murderer, not a mayor. These kinds of issues were beyond her specialty. But the council who _did_ specialize in these matters could not manage to come up with anything better. Oh sure, they provided her with a couple of modest suggestions, but none of those solved the short-term problems. One of those suggestions sounded useful though. Jack had immediately agreed to setup an academy for basic learning and craftsmanship. She had noticed plenty of people who couldn't read, and she was definitely not going to let that impede the growth of her community. Even an idiot like her knew how impeding illiteracy could be in her drive for growth. If the villagers couldn't read or write, they wouldn't be able to learn from books.

She did shoot down another suggestion, one that stated that they could earn a lot of coin if they loaned out their reavers as mercenaries. Mercs were usually hired in small numbers, and Jack was loath to see her men break apart. Besides, she had plenty of bad experiences with the mercenary gangs in Citadel space and she wasn't about to let her little army descend into corruption.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, she wouldn't have to make a decision after all. Something else came along that would throw her plans completely into disarray. It came on horseback.

"Outriders!"

The entire council quickly assembled at the entrance of their booming town. They had all put on their best clothes and most expensive jewels. Jack didn't quite know what was going on, but she wasn't about to wear some frilly dress just because some outsiders came along the way! She scowled at the maidservant holding out the ridiculous garment and went to grab her drakeskin armor. If she was about to greet some huffy puffy bigwig, then she'd better let him know she wouldn't roll over and let him step on her. She smirked at her reflection in the mirror as she applied some dark lipstick onto her eager lips.

'_Oh yeah…'_

As she joined her advisors at the bottom, she could spot the riders that went ahead of the main procession. They were knights, no doubt about it. Both men wore shiny ringmailed armor atop sturdy brown runners. They sat stone-faced on their mounts while proud holding up speared banners. They all portrayed a single mountain behind a radiant sun on a light blue background.

"The crest of Bann Lester of Clairmont." Liam, the former caravan trader but now her current trade advisor said. "He rules over nine other villages and single countryside castle."

"Why's he here?"

"Perhaps to greet Andraste in person?" The advisor guessed, though he looked rather skeptical as more knights rode up to the village.

"No." Kolgrim interjected. "The banns of Clairmont have never expressed much interest in our beliefs. I fear he may have come to demand an explanation of our.. recent transformation."

Feeling something bad was coming up, Jack looked suspiciously at him. "What for?"

Liam spoke first. "It is likely that he was prompted to visit us because Haven's activities are disrupting the rest of his lands. Where do you think all the newcomers came from, milady? They came from his other steads. Farms are falling in disuse and workshops are growing empty. People are slowly but surely drawn to our village, taking away wealth and skills at the expense of the communities they have left behind."

"So what's this 'bann' going to do about it? Drag his people back?"

"There is something else to consider first, milady." Eirik said as he came down from his chantry. He held a small scroll holder in his hands. "You must read this missive first." He opened the leather cap of the holder and carefully retrieved an ancient yellowed scroll. He rolled it out with exquisite care and he handed the message over to Jack.

"…The hell.. I can't read this. How old is this speech?"

Eirik made an exasperating sigh and took back the scroll. "It is an ancient covenant governing the relation between the village of Haven and the banns of Clairmont. In short, it contains provisions which essentially determine that we will not cause any unrest, and lend our contingent of warriors when called in exchange for a waiver on all taxes and tithes."

Money. It eventually came down to money again. Jack shook her head. "So, since we're costing him a lot of gold, he's coming here to renegotiate our terms?"

"Quite probably."

"Well this will be fun…" She grinned, but quickly wiped it off her face as more hoof beats began to echo upwards. "How powerful is this guy?"

"His army outnumbers ours, but he cannot hope to match the quality of our warriors." Kolgrim didn't look confident though. "But do not think to antagonizing the bann. He is an established noble and has many connections. Other banns will rise up to defend his honor if necessary. Not only that, his arl is obliged to offer protection if he comes under attack. We cannot hope to match any army an arl is capable of fielding."

'_Great, so I've got a pissed off noble coming my way and there's no way I can fight him.'_

Trumpets suddenly sounded out as the bann's party came round the bend and into view. Six magnificent white steeds led the front. The riders held out their war trumpets to announce the bann's arrival. The next dozen horses held gleaming heavy armored knights, all wield mean-looking lances and shields painted with the same crest plastered onto the banners. The horses rode closer to Jack's arrival party and when it looked like they would trample over them, the horses split to the sides, surrounding the delegation and clearing the way for their lord. The bann eventually arrived himself. The noble wore a pleasantly colored silky garb under a smooth woolen cloak. Though the quality must have been exquisite, the outfit did sort of seem a little eccentric. The man's face was certainly not as jolly. Its sneering eyes were sharp and gloomy. His short black hair was cropped and his rather pointy mustache made him appear even more unfriendly. Jack wasn't intimidated at all by his glare. She would have stared right back were it not for the bann's nearest companion.

The heavy armored man riding besides the noble looked kind of ridiculous, but in a scary way. His sturdy breastplate was carved with a sword surrounded by leafs of some sort and was topped off with oversized shoulder plates. His legs were covered by a comically looking chainmail skirt under a regular purple skirt. On horseback, the skirts rode up to his waist, leaving his plain white leggings exposed.

There was nothing funny in the man's glowing gaze. The bald knight seemed to look right through Jack and all her secret desires. Her heart unconsciously beat louder as her blood sang out to his. Something about him put her at edge in a way all biotics did. There was nothing casual about his stance, his ever-present alertness and his all-seeing eyes. Was he some kind of warrior-mage? A dragon hunter?

The bann's words brought her back. "So _this_ is the woman who has been causing me an endless amount of trouble these last few days. I expected Andraste to look more… regal. How disappointing."

Father Eirik handled all the diplomatic niceties, doing his best to welcome the stoic party. Jack stayed silent and kept her arms close and ready on the guns strapped to her back. Bann Lester continued to piss her off, but she wasn't about to provoke his weird companion. There was some sort of power within that man that felt vaguely familiar and frightening at the same time.

"Let us retreat to the dining hall." Eirik suggested smoothly. "You must have had a long ride. A feast is waiting inside."

The knights dismounted and their horses were led away by their squires and servants. Eirik guided the guests towards the temple up at the mountain. Jack and her contingent followed behind.

Seeing they were out of earshot, Jack turned to Kolgrim and asked, "Who the _hell _is that guy walking besides Bann Lester? The one with the purple skirt."

"He is a templar. Templars serve and protect the Chantry, but they also hunt mages and demons outside the Circle. To accomplish this task, they train rigorously and ingest lyrium in order to develop certain powers used to subdue the Fade. They are very formidable warriors, even against our disciples. The bann has brought the templar with him to protect himself from any unexpected influences."

"Great, so I suppose we can't slip in a few drops of my blood in his wine."

"That would be grossly inadvisable. We have never been able to successfully convert a templar to our cause. Our mages speculate that their conditioning against magic makes them resistant."

So these skirt wearing mage hunters just happen to be immune to her brainwashing blood. Damn. While she might be able to put that man down with a shotgun blast to his face, she wasn't nearly as comfortable that she could achieve the same with her biotics. Magic and mass effect mixed in very odd ways. The bann wasn't stupid and probably knew the dangers posed by her cult. This battle wouldn't be fought with weapons and magic, but with words and charm.

She was completely fucked.

* * *

A full feast was called in honor of her guests, and the full works were brought into the half-restored dining chamber. Jack and the bann sat at the head of the long rectangular chamber. Their other men were spread out along the remaining seats. Unfortunately, due to some half-assed seniority tradition, Kolgrim and Eirik sat at least three seats away, causing her to be surrounded by that intimidating templar and several other noble born knights. She swore Lester brought those snobs on this trip on purpose in order to isolate her from her advisors. Whatever it was, it worked. She had to endure the entire feast alone with unfriendly nobles holding some sort of grudge against her existence.

They ate the chicken soup and other appetizers and exchanged meaningless pleasantries amongst themselves. Jack kept her mouth shut as much as possible. As the main course arrived in the form of a roasted boar, the actual battle of words commenced.

"So, milady Andraste," The bann began with a deceptively light tone as drops of grease splattered carelessly from his mouth. "When can I expect my subjects to return?"

'_Straight with a bang, eh? Well, at least he's getting straight to the point. The guy's got guts.'_

Her eyes briefly passed over the templar, who hardly touched his food as he guardedly observed the room. She turned back to the noble. "Ask your 'subjects' yourself if you're so eager. Why they came here in the first place is none of my business. I didn't bring them here. They came here out of their own choice. Would you take that freedom away from them?"

"Oh? Is it not my duty to protect my lands and vassals? I am responsible for the prosperity and well-being of my domain, my _entire_ domain. Do you not carry a similar responsibility yourself? Then surely you must know that there are certain needs that have to be fulfilled no matter the cost. It is the purpose of landless wretches to sacrifice themselves for our wealth."

Gosh, she didn't have the patience to endure this kind of will of wits. If some bum started to sit besides her and do the same, she'd ordinarily punch the bastard's face. That wasn't an option here, though. It was best for all their sakes to play along.

"As far as I know, the people of Ferelden have the freedom to go wherever they want to. Only the Tevinters own slaves." She tore off the skin from a large boar haunch and chewed as obnoxious as she could. "Maybe they left because your lands aren't worth the sacrifices."

But the bann was just getting started. "Or perhaps these hardworking men and women were just being duped by a charlatan." He then pursued a different tack. "I thought we had an arrangement. Your village would keep to yourselves and stay out of trouble, while I grant you protection against the Chantry and the other lords in addition to waiving taxes. The sudden exodus of valuable workers from my other lands is a clear violation of our ancient pact. Not that I understand why my ancestor agreed to it in the first place."

The two ate in silence as Jack mulled over the words. In a sense, she understood that the man had the right of it, if a little bit. Yet she could hardly force the villagers to leave her side and return to their former communities, not when they had ingested her blood. Those hopeful people came to Haven to seek a different life. To force these people to leave would make them.. unstable. Compensating the bann by paying the taxes might be a better alternative, but Haven was woefully short on hard coin and businesses were barely setting up. That meant that if she wanted to pay off the bann, she had to draw on their limited stockpile of dragon materials, something which she definitely did not want to bestow to the bann. It would only strengthen his army and increase his bargaining power.

"You know.." The noble continued, chewing bits off a piece of bone. "As the bann ruling over your pathetic village, I have absolute authority in all matters of law and governance. It would take only a single command to remove you from your post and allow me to place a more amenable individual in your place. How much would it take for you to compensate my damages? It is hardly acceptable for me to leave without a satisfying resolution. So tell me, how far are you willing to spread those uncouth legs of yours?"

How could she stave off disaster while simultaneously get this asshole off her back? Her usual course of action, intimidation, wouldn't work. Bluffing her way out like Shepard wasn't an option either. What else could she do without giving up something vital? Jack just wanted to do something reckless for the heck of it, but she was supposed to be looking out for more than just her own interests. It was hard to damn herself in her own actions when she was liable to drag others down if she fell. She had to be careful, but she had to be bold as well. Was that even possible?

'_Jeez, what am I thinking? I'm motherfucking Jack, the most bad-ass biotic in the universe, multiverse, whatever!'_

"You know what," She eventually started as her confidence returned. "I think you assholes need to leave. Right now."

The bann looked amused, as if he had foreseen this reaction. "Or what, you little wench?"

Before anyone could blink, Jack kicked away her chair and stood up to face the bann, shotgun in hand. She pumped it once, making an unfamiliar but foreboding sound to the visitors. "Or I'll blast your pretty little face apart."

Everyone in the room gaped at her in confusion. The knights weren't that stupid however, and quickly stood up to draw their swords and shields. The templar himself half-bowled the bann over in order to cover him with his own formidable bulk. Everyone was shouting for everyone else to back off. A couple of reavers tried to worm their way towards Jack, only to be blocked by annoying squires. Doors slammed open as more guards streamed inside, but despite being outnumbered, the bann and his men had Jack by her throat.

"Cease this senseless aggression immediately! I am your bann, your ruler, and I _demand_ you lay down your arms!" He nodded to his templar pet, who stepped closer to Jack. The warrior gripped his warhammer tighter in his gauntleted grip. "I cannot guarantee the safety of your leader if you peasants refuse to comply."

"Hahahahaha!" Jack grinned and spat on the ground in front of the templar. "You really think you can beat me?" She fired a shot at the same spot where her spit went, which shattered as the pellets tore through the stone. The templar quickly jumped back, confirming at least that he was not invincible. "You really think you can beat _Andraste_?"

The Chantry warrior spoke out for the first time since they've met. His voice was level and pure. "I see no prophet, only tainted blood and a clouded mind. The Maker would be shamed to find you impersonating his holy wife."

Jack scanned the room with her roving eyes. The bann's men held their resolve even as scores of reavers surrounded them. The noble bastards looked confident in their strength, as if fighting blood-enhanced warriors was just a past time. No, they probably weren't as good as her own men. She knew the look. She had seen it before, from the Illusive Man to the pirate leader she hung out with once. These asshats were so goddamn confident in their little chess-like traps and schemes that they probably thought that they had every little possibility covered. The templar seemed to be the crux of their hope.

Well, it was time to show that she didn't play by their rules.

Her entire body began to glow blue as she overcharged her biotic barrier. Her eyes glowed in fierce bright blue as her vision broadened to encompass more dimensions. She could see the astonishment of the templar as she showed her strength, just as she could finally see what made him so fucking special.

Eezo. There were traces of element zero in his bloodstream. It wasn't pure as the real thing and plenty of other elements polluted the substance, but it was there alright.

For a moment, she couldn't think of anything else. Eezo, in this world? The possibilities…

The templar meanwhile looked up at her with shock, and it seemed her original ploy worked as the templar stepped back again, this time not even bothering to hide his apprehension. "The Fade.. the taint.. she.. how can this be!"

The man's obvious astonishment had an immediate impact on the rest of the guests. They looked more uneasy, adjusting the grips on their weapons or shifting around their feet. Exactly as Jack had intended. She grinned again, pushing away the implications about the presence of eezo for now in order to focus on the situation at hand.

"Look at your little Chantry puppet." She exclaimed, making sure her voice boomed in the entire chamber. "He's cowering against my power! Do you think you can take me on? If he's no match, where does that leave you guys, hmm?"

The standoff continued with neither party willing to make the first move. Bann Lester tried to nudge his templar out of his daze, but the soldier kept his gaze on the biotic like he was looking at a contortionist. Jack was half-curious what his surprise was about. Did it have to do with the presence of eezo in his blood? Had he never seen a real biotic before? Well, it did make sense, sort of. Even she needed artificial implants in order to utilize her powers, and that kind of technology was well out of the hands of any primitive civilization on this planet. She supposed magic might offer a solution, but if that were true, then biotics would have been much more prevalent.

Having finally sensing his dwindling fortune of obtaining any sort of advantage, the bann conceded.

"You'll regret this, maleficar." He spat venomously, and signaled his men to lower their weapons. Jack nodded at the questioning gaze of Kolgrim, which let him directed his men to open a path for their guests. The bann and his men sullenly dragged their feet out of the chamber. Their horses would be waiting for them, and Jack could rely on Kolgrim to encourage the bastards to leave the premises with haste. They'd be sleeping out on the road this night. The thought of those spoiled nobles sleeping on a miserable blanket on hard cold ground made the mercenary smirk.

It dropped when she turned around to meet the concerned faces of her council. She knew they'd never openly show their disapproval of her actions, let alone word them out, but she'd gotten rather proficient at reading their moods. They all showed the same thing. Jack made a mistake. A huge mistake, as was becoming increasingly apparent.

"What?" She prodded, hoping they'd get it out. "I'm not going to bite. Just spit it out. "

Everyone looked at everyone, until Eirik ventured out. "Milady, holy Andraste.. I.. I mean we.. we do not want to suggest that we question your judgement, o holy Andraste, glorious Andraste, savior of mankind and defeater of the Tevinter Imperium, founder of the Chantry and—"

"—Just spit it out already, I don't got all day."

"Ah, Yes, as you wish milady." The men and women all looked more anxious, as if Jack would spit fireball at them. The Reverent Father nevertheless continued with his thoughts. "It is.. unfortunate to have our bann as our enemy. As we have already explained, he can call upon many allies, including his liegelord if need be. There is no telling what he might do these next few days, but it is certain to be unpleasant for us, as he desires a decisive end to the current situation."

Jack narrowed her eyes, considering whether she should regret not bashing the skull of that obnoxious bann. "What can we do, besides assaulting his guards?"

"Not much, I am afraid. According to nominal Ferelden tradition, villages, farmsteads and even banns may switch their allegiance to a different liegelord. Ordinarily, we could proclaim fealty to another bann, but…"

"None of the banns besides Lester knows of our true nature." Liam supplied as he stepped in the conversation. As a trader he was more knowledgeable about the outside world than the rest, who have always been insular in nature. "That is another risk we should take into account. The bann might blackmail us by threatening to expose our secrets. He might have already done so anyway to satisfy his spite. But that is a double-edged sword. It would not be to his advantage to expose Haven as it calls into question his own complicity."

"What about going over Bann Lester's head to petition his boss?" Jack suggested. "Can this 'arl' of his help us out?"

"No." Eirik spoke firmly, deflating her hopes. "We have pledged fealty to the bann, and we have violated that oath. The bann owes fealty to the Arl of Eastfrost, who has an obligation to protect his vassal's essential interests. We in turn are not direct vassals of the arl and enjoy no such protection. As far as the Arldom is concerned, the bann is well within his legal rights to administer any manner of justice or suppression under private law."

Jack cursed her fortune. "Nobles. Damn shitheads and their laws."

"Be that as it may, we are not in an enviable position. Any violent retaliation to any of the bann's measures will provoke a brutal response."

"Gosh, if he's so much trouble, why not send out a force and kill him now while he's vulnerable?"

At least they didn't look appalled. Having killed thousands of nosy travelers for generations had at least made them less squeamish. "Bann Lester would not have been so unprepared as to anticipate such a turn of events, especially concerning us. I am certain that he has contingency orders in place in the event he turns up dead or missing, implicating us and likely drawing the attention of the arl. No, his death will cause more problems than solving them."

'_Shhhhit. I blew it big time. I couldn't let that smug bastard bully us any further, but now.. shit, fucking smart of me to draw us into a deeper hole. I must be winning the idiot award.'_

"So what do suggest we do?" She asked more earnestly, knowing she couldn't stick her head in the sand this time.

"We could capitulate and offer the lord a peace token. There are not a lot of options available for us at this time. We could either relinquish our exemption on taxes and tithes, or we could send back the recent immigrants. Likely the bann will demand both."

"No, hell no. I'm not going to give that dickface what he wants. Sure, he might be entitled to taxes I suppose, but not with his attitude. I can smell a bully a light-year away. He won't stay happy for long with just twenty percent."

"Then… I cannot foresee another resolution to our dilemma."

They dispersed and checked in for the night. Jack felt like a dick for causing all this trouble for the ones she was suppose to care for. How easy it was to manage by yourself in the wild traverses of Citadel space. She could just shoot anyone who didn't please her without worrying about making orphans. Heck, that was why she didn't even have any friends. They'd either wound up dead or had the smarts to stay well away from her. Those friends that did stuck around for some reason for another weren't even friends. They were more like leeches who wanted to use her body or powers for their own selfish uses.

The problem with the bann wouldn't go away very easily. No one had an easy solution, and she was determined not to give in. That bann was trouble, and the sooner she dealt with him, the better the village would be off. The trouble was finding that solution quickly before anyone else started to get hurt. She suspected that her wish wouldn't come true, and that she'd inevitably be responsible for something bad as a result of her reckless decisions.

She hugged herself closer against her sheets. There was not a single moment when she felt more comfortable and safe than in her bed. Sleep was her only solace at the Cerberus facility, the only moment when she wasn't being prodded to kill another kid, or be drugged and beaten in order to strengthen her biotics. Her dreams were the only moments of escape from the miseries of the world, where she wasn't confined in a box and was free to explore the wilderness that always tempted her beyond the windows.

Jack felt like such a whiny little girl at these moments. She was long past innocence. Yet.. the world of dreams was where she really had any control over her life. The people of her imagination were her friends. They'd never think of stabbing her back, since she'd made them that way. Closing her eyes, she let her consciousness fade and enter the realm of dreams.

* * *

How prophetic she had been when she guessed what might happen. The following week made clear that the bann wasn't being discrete or constrained in his retaliation. The first decree he issued barred any further migration to Haven. To enforce his directive, he drew out his full reserves and increased patrols along the edge of Haven's domain. She herself had to draw back most of her reavers into service and bolster the perimeter of the outlands to keep the bann's men in check.

Lester was slowly draining his treasury by having so many men in arms, but he seemed determined to make a point. Jack didn't have to pay anything but a small pittance in comparison, but the blockade had cut off essential trade. Access to the food markets were cut and many other manufactured goods would be in short supply by the end of the month. She had to concede that the longer this standoff went on, the worse they'd come out of it. If only this was the bann's only response.

Two weeks later, a single white horse rode into view. It was a messenger. Thinking it was from the bann himself, she went down personally and see what merited such a special method of delivery. He could have dropped off the mail to her men. Letting in even a single rider would provide valuable intelligence to the enemy. The patrollers must have good reason for letting him in unescorted.

The rider, clasped in a white cloak and looking none too shabby himself, hopped off his steeds like he had a spring up his butt. The young blond man bowed respectfully before her, but did not offer a greeting besides holding out a parcel. She took it without word, and the messenger turned and left. _'Figures.'_

She broke the red wax seal and unfolded the envelope, which doubled as the letter itself. Squinting at the overly curly reading, she carefully made out the words.

_To: 'ANDRASTE', and the council of the village of Haven, of the Bann of Clairmont, of the Arldom of Eastfrost_

_Issued: 9:30 Dragon; 6-15_

_**ACCUSATION OF HERESY**_

_The ORDER OF TEMPLARS of the Kingdom of Ferelden have been informed of possible instances HERETICAL ACTIONS by the esteemed SER BRYANT of the CHANTRY of Clairmont. His suspicions and accusations have been corroborated by the devout Bann Lester of Clairmont and several dozens of witnesses of HIGH and UPRIGHT blood. The TEMPLAR ORDER has received sporadic reports of STRANGE and SUSPICIOUS activity around Haven for several hundred years, and in light of the apparent NOTORIETY this village has acquired, the ORDER has no choice but to consider the invocation of the RITE OF PURIFICATION._

_The village of Haven must cease and desist all attempts of HERESY against the CHANTRY OF ANDRASTE, and must accept a sizable contingent of TEMPLAR KNIGHTS to begin the collection of evidence. All MILITIA must disband immediately and all weapons must be laid down to be confiscated. The full VILLAGE COUNCIL must surrender themselves to the custody of the TEMPLAR KNIGHTS in order to be tested against the presence of TAINT, whether DEMONIC or DARKSPAWN in nature. WARDEN-COMMANDER DUNCAN of the honorable and vigilant ORDER OF THE GREY WARDENS of the Kingdom of Ferelden has offered his assistance to the court, and will be present in these examinations in order to ascertain the presence of DARKSPAWN._

_The individual known as ANDRASTE must immediately step down from her position of leadership and submit to CHANTRY interrogation. This FOUL and CONTEMPTIBLE individual is personally accused by the TEMPLAR-COMMANDER and the REVERENT MOTHER of the STURNBERG CHANTRY of the most wicked and heinous crimes of HERESY, SORCERY, WITCHCRAFT, NECROMANCY, APOSTACY, DEFAMATION, IMPERSONATION, DECEPTION, CORRUPTION, BLASPHEMY, INDOCTRINATION, IMPRISONMENT, THEFT, DESTRUCTION, MURDER, DESECRATION, FORNICATION and INDECENCY._

_A CHANTRY court has been assembled in Sturnberg to PASS JUDGEMENT on these matters and ADMINISTER the due sanctions in accordance to the tenets of the CHANTRY OF ANDRASTE. If it has been determined that at least one in hundred residing or currently present in the village and outskirts of Haven is marked by any TAINT of any nature whatsoever, the ORDER OF TEMPLARS will proceed with the invocation of the RITE OF PURIFICATION and cleanse ALL inhabitants in DIRECT or INDIRECT exposure with DEATH by BURNING._

_May the MAKER, blessed be His name, have mercy upon your UNDESERVING souls,_

_**TEMPLAR-COMMANDER COLLIN**_

_**REVERENT MOTHER ARLAN**_

"Oh. My. Fucking. God."

The scroll fell out of her hands. It took a few seconds for the implications to settle in. That damn templar of Lester had ratted out their existence to the FUCKING Chantry. Now, the whole FUCKING Spanish Inquisition would come down upon her and the rest of the villagers. If those zealots discover all the brainwashing and the dragon blood, everyone would be executed out of sheer paranoia.

She might just have condemned all of her people to death.

The councilors had picked up the scroll and read its contents for themselves. All were wide-eyed about the implications. They looked desperately at Jack, as if she could easily fix the whole mess. Yeah right.

'_Pf, don't kid yourself. I'm Andraste, the whole whazoo, the miracle machine whose supposed to deliver paradise on earth.'_

How was Jack supposed to get out of this situation? There was hardly any room left to maneuver. Heck, if she hadn't been so greedy with the dragon bones and skins, she might have bribed the noble into silence. Now, her list of enemies had grown way too long. The worst part was that there was nothing she could do to stop this terrible turn of events. It wasn't as if she could destroy a city or two like she destroyed the Collector Base with Shepard to get rid of the problem. No, shooting her way out of the problem was definitely impossible now, not that it was viable even before the Chantry got on her ass.

"FUCK!"

She pounded a nearby fence, obliterating it in biotic fury. "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!" She kicked at an obelisk, creating a huge hole that caused the large stone to topple. Pure rage blinded her as she rampaged in a random direction, leaving a swathe of destruction in her wake. She tore a hole through a house, felled trees with her fists, destroyed a small ancient altar. Her rage continued to lash out until she finally bled her fists to the bone. Having lost all hope, she slumped her aching back against a rock and gazed up at the bright clear sky in hopeless bewilderment.

Only clouds met her gaze. They would observe nothing but damnation.

* * *

**End Notes: **Jack is sure unlucky.


	4. Fuck you

October 30, 2010  
Revised: July 29, 2011  
By RahXephon [847246]

**Author's Notes:** Long time no update. Well, here it is. Enjoy.

* * *

_**Dragon Age: Jack Effect**_

_Fuck you_

* * *

Since the arrival of the templar ultimatum, the entire village of Haven instantly readied itself for war. Something as severe as a purge was impossible to keep under the lid, and before Jack had returned enough of her senses from her rampage, practically everyone knew about the situation already. The local grocery store was emptied out of all its supplies within the afternoon, as everyone else started barricading their houses or the temple where most of them stayed. Kolgrim and his military cadre immediately rang the war bell, signaling all reserves to take up their arms and armor and assemble in the temple hall. The rest of the council divided their attention into ensuring order was upheld and any further supplies be kept under lockdown.

Hunters and poachers alike took up their trusted bows and their newly-issued drakeskin armor. In times like these, she wasn't about to let her treasure of dragon products lay about in the dust. Any advantage had to be gained at almost any cost. She even had the civilians train in repelling soldiers with whatever tools they had. The reaver blood within them enhanced their strength and reflexes, but did not help in technique and discipline. Even given the finest set of dragonbone plate, they would still have their asses handed to them by a single army rookie. Heck, even Joker could have run rings around the clumsy goofs.

As much as she wished, Jack couldn't help to consign to herself that winning was hopeless. She might have been able to handle just that jerk of a bann's forces, but all the men of the arl and the regional templars? Impossible. A battle would have been so easy to provoke. The bann's scouts patrolling around the village had been making frequent raids into Havenite territory the last few days. They were keenly aware somehow that her storehouses didn't hold enough food to last the entire winter. As much as Kolgrim tried to bolster their perimeters, there was simply too much ground to cover.

The bann's raiders would ride in fast at night on swift steeds while throwing torches left and right. Everywhere they landed, a fire would break out amongst the crops, which might possibly grow to engulf an entire plot. A contingent of firefighters was stationed at almost every farm, but they arrived always arrived too late to subdue the flames. In the early days of the blockade, it took her men ages to put out the fires because they had to carry water from the canals. Later on, Jack had ordered the wagon makers and coopers to construct a medieval fire engine. The ungainly contraption was even slower to arrive at a fire, but when it finally did, her men could fight the fires much better than with a bunch of buckets.

It was little consolation for the coming days. More and more soldiers started to arrive. They congregated at a clearing at the foot of the mountains, setting up colorful tents with a myriad of banners flying over them. Horses moved back and forth, rehearsing charges and whatnot while mages performed strange lightshows that made her and the rest of the Havenites somewhat apprehensive.

'_How did this shit get so far?'_

Jack didn't ask for this war. She didn't want her subjects to become embroiled in some religious cleansing. If someone picked a fight with her, it wouldn't be so bad since she knew how to handle bullies. Kolgrim, Eirik and the other reavers had been trained since their birth to fight for their high dragon mistress, so they weren't pushovers either. If it was just her and her men, this fight would have been manageable.

That she had a lot of innocent civilians under her care limited most of her options. Those brainwashed villagers weren't heretics, and even if they were, it was not as if they rejected the Orlesian Chantry on purpose. Their parents and the parents of their parents worshipped the High Dragon for generation, knowing nothing better, so they weren't at fault. It was the dragon's fault for impersonating Andraste, and for using her reptilian blood to warp the minds of the villagers. Heck, if nothing else, the templars should have congratulated Jack instead of trying to burn her at the stake.

They were bigots, all of them. She supposed she couldn't expect anything better from a medieval culture. Everything was backwards, religion most of all. It would have been easier if they would just realize that they didn't have to worship anything, but that was too much to hope.

She supposed she could have just cut and run. It wouldn't be too difficult despite her unique appearance. Years of living on the edge had given her the experience she needed to live practically anywhere, even in the wilderness. Still, to abandon all these helpless people was a thought she couldn't bear.

'_Besides'_, she thought as she looked over the ever-growing war camp. _'These prissy knights ain't know anything yet about real warfare.'_

Her lithe body shifted as she drew her night cloak closer. The darkening hour and the coming storm would provide perfect cover for what she was about to unleash on these unsuspecting enemies. The dragon blood within her _craved _for human blood no matter how squirreled up it was. Unaware of the impulse, but welcoming it all the same, she took action.

Jack spread her arms and jumped.

And ten crows descended into the night.

* * *

"Ah, Warden-Commander Duncan, a pleasure to see you."

"Perhaps." The dark-haired veteran replied non-committed as he drew off his travelling cloak and brushed away the mountain snow. The roomy command tent was kept pleasantly warm by a fire that ran in the center. The hazy smoke wafted through the circular opening at the top, but traces of its dry aroma still reached his tired lungs. The Grey Warden coughed a few times, straining for control.

"Ah my apologies, Warden-Commander. Is the fire too thick? Should I pull out a few logs?" Templar-Commander Collin asked with apparent sincerity.

"No need, I still have a few strong years left inside my bones."

"Very well. Please take a seat then. I shall have refreshments and supper brought up immediately."

Both took a seat at the rather shabby rectangular table. Collin's heavy templar armor audibly creaked the poor chair he was sitting on while Duncan's lighter gear barely disturbed anything. Servants soon brought up glasses of wine and a pleasant plate of roasted beef along with a few smattering of recently picked vegetables.

"Poached from the rebel's own farms before they had the sense to hide their livestock underground." Collin spoke as he munched over his food like a pig eating sop. Duncan mentally shook his head, and went about his own plate with enough calm to actually savor the taste.

"So," The old Grey Warden started after a moment of chewing. "About this accusation of heresy. Has there been any new developments from the letter you have sent me?"

"Nothing much, Maker be praised. The few skirmishes we had against their heavy militia left us with much more casualties than we had anticipated. Whatever foul magics that female abomination had conjured up has bestowed her minions an unnatural amount of endurance and strength. Since discovering this unsettling fact, we have strived to avoid direct conflict and instead wait for more forces to arrive while we sent out tentative raiding parties. It's a miserable course of action, but even with two thousand soldiers under my command, the losses we would endure if we assaulted their mountain citadel would have been much worse."

The news was as much as Duncan had heard from passing travelers. This cult of a supposed reincarnated Andraste might be heretical beyond reproach, but it did held a frightening amount of power. Enough to hold back even thousands by the sound of it. This new development was becoming more and more of a nuisance that was draining a substantial amount of Ferelden's manpower. With word of darkspawn amassing in the forests to the south, he should have been there himself by the King's side. Instead, he was stuck in a different middle of nowhere roped into helping the Chantry get rid of this growing pest.

At least he would be gaining a new recruit in the form of the disgraced Arl who let this heresy grow unchecked for centuries.

"What can you tell me about the taint that afflicts the people of Haven?" If there was any chance the darkspawn were able to control humans without any ill effects… the repercussions would be huge.

Collin's eyes grew weary as he pushed aside his plate and wiped the grease of his hands with a handkerchief. The question had been bothering him and the rest of the Chantry as well and has given him more than a few sleepless nights.

"Despite capturing dozens of these supposed infected, none of our examinations have revealed any clues. Their bodies seem in perfect health, strengthened even by a factor of a half. There are none of the obvious signs of either darkspawn infection or Demon possession. Their souls seem remarkably pure in the Fade, almost singular in purpose like the Spirits. Yet as these noble Fade-born manifestations serve a higher ideal, the souls of the heretics seem to worship only the person they see as a reincarnated Andraste. All attempts of persuasion and… coercion have failed to convince them otherwise. They would rather lose their lives than even lie that they have renounced their worship of this idol."

"That is.. very disturbing to hear." Duncan commented. "It does not sound quite familiar to me either. I would like to look at some of these heretics myself in order to confirm the presence of darkspawn taint. Times are getting darker in Ferelden and the darkspawn are beginning to rise from their slumber."

"Do you believe that this phenomenon is a new form of darkspawn attack?"

Duncan shook his head. "No. But I merely observe that this event and the mobilization of darkspawn elsewhere in Ferelden occurring at the same time can hardly be a coincidence. There must be a connection. We just have to unearth the reason."

The two sat back on their chairs and began to discuss other matters, from what nobility was present to the Chantry's intentions towards the Haven cult. It seemed the Chantry would not even consider the cult leader's claim of being the true Andraste.

"This risen Andraste, what can you tell me of her?"

The steady smile on the templar's face shrank slightly. "Nothing much besides what we have heard indirectly." Turning to one of the guards inside the tent, he ordered, "Would you please summon Ser Bryant to me at once, will you?"

The guard saluted before exiting the tent. Collin returned to the Grey Warden. "What I have observed myself so far these past few weeks is that this wench is a complete mockery of the real Andraste. This imposter rules over her cult with absolute control over the mind, robbing men and women of their freedom of thought. These cultists are mere slaves before her will, and can do nothing against her. It is a despicable sight, seeing their ranks of fearsomely armored soldiers moving in almost perfect parade, as if they were but a single mind spread out over many bodies. Perhaps it is the maleficar herself, directing her dolls with the proverbial strings."

"Hmmm…" Duncan pondered the story. While he did not doubt the Templar-Commander's sincerity in this matter, there was still a strong tone of bias. As could be expected from any templar.

Before they could go any further, Ser Bryant entered the tent. The dour man saluted his superior with a curt bump to the chest before gracing Duncan with a small nod.

"Ser Bryant, please relate to our guest your observations of the wretched abomination."

"Very well." The man stood before the two seated men with his armored arms behind his back. He began his recital as he had done many times before. He described her official position within the village of Haven and the reverence shown by the councilors to her person. He also described her appearance, noting in particular her unusual lack of hair and perverse abundance of tattoos.

"Despite her exotic portrayal of Andraste, I believe that it is her arsenal in which she distinguishes herself. She wields strange, elegant-looking metal contraptions, not unlike a slender crossbow. One might even confuse it for a magic rod." The man brought his hand on his bald head as if to smooth the non-existent hair. "But when it fires, it fires with a small explosion. Faster than the eye can see, it leaves behind a spread of destruction at whatever direction the weapon was pointed at. Worst is that the contraption seems to be able to fire in repeat. How this can be done without any noticeable use of magic or lyrium is unknown."

Word of this strange metallic device peaked Duncan's interest. Was this a work of foul magic, or a marvel of technology? This device sounded very much like a Qunari blunderbuss. Old rusted copies still remained in the Grey Warden's secret stash, relics from the age-old invasion more than two hundred years ago. He used to wonder how these devices worked and what was needed to manufacture the fabled black powder necessary to fire this weapon. Perhaps the heretic's own weapon could be used to unlock the secrets of black powder, giving the Grey Wardens the edge needed to push back the darkspawn.

"But even that fearsome device merely scratches the surface of her real potential." The veteran knight seemed visibly shaken at this point, as if merely glimpsing back at his memories caused him to seize his heart. "Though my humble heart remains devoted to Andraste and her Chantry, I cannot help but cower before the sheer might of this new prophetess. Her body glowed with the blue of pure radiant power, of strength that was – to my astonishment – never bestowed from the Fade. Her display of strength was neither neither flame nor ice, demon-touched or spirit-blessed. It was… of some other source, so foul and corrupting that I did not sense any presence of evil, nor a façade of righteousness for that matter. I have cleansed myself more than a dozen times after my return from that cursed citadel, but my eyes cannot rid itself from the halo of that blue herald of destruction. I beg my utmost forgiveness to you for my abject failure."

Collin caught the sobbing templar and absolved the man. "You have not failed, brother. I am certain nobody could have acted any different when faced with such a terrible display of heresy. It was good of you to stay your hand and report your findings to me. Your words of warning have been helpful in our preparations."

A templar guard picked up the broken Ser Bryant and led the warrior out of the tent. Collin and Duncan were alone again.

"It is a sad day to see such a symbol of purity be reduced to irrational fear. My men have been trained from their childhood to resist the foul manifestations of the Fade. For there to be a being that could bypass our lifelong resistance.. and by Ser Bryant's description, tapping power from a different source than the realm of dreams. Could this Risen Andraste be a herald of a newly arrived power?"

"A herald you say.." Duncan considered the idea, but did not look convinced. "It sounds unlikely. Without any solid proof, we can only speculate of her origins and her source of power. No, let us stick to the facts. All we know is that she is female, bears weapons more advanced than the Qunari, and appears to be quite a sorceress, though her strength and powers remains to be seen. Is there anything else?"

"Yes. She rules over a flock of villagers who bear unnatural love and devotion for their tyrant, and commands a small but formidable army of hardened warriors and mages. It was fairly obvious on our arrival here that no form of compromise can be made with these lost souls. All we can do is hasten their extinction."

The Templar-Commander went to a sturdy iron chest, opened it, and retrieved a large scroll of paper. He went back to the table, set the empty dishes aside and unfurled the scroll. It was a detailed topographical map of Haven and its surroundings.

"Come look at this Duncan. I had my scouts explore the countryside for weeks. Now, what do you see?"

The Grey Warden came over by his side to study the map. "Hmmm… there seems to be only one path up the central village, very steep and narrow. There are other avenues of attacks in the form of goat trails and caves, but they are even narrower. The heretics seem to be in the process of blockading them with landslides and avalanches."

"Yes.. a fine piece of work by their mages. A handful of our senior Circle Mages say they can clear the rocks away in the event of an invasion, so they do not represent much of an impediment. More problematic is the amount of power required to move or destroy these rocks. If we expend the strength of our mages this early in our attack, then we will have little support left to spare against the enemy forces themselves. No, I must concede this small victory to the heretic forces. I will only send up small forces of irregulars who are able to climb up these rocks in order to try to disarray the enemy from behind."

"That still leaves the bottleneck." Duncan tapped the only winding road up to the incomplete wall that was slowly encompassing the village and the mountain top. "The inclination is too steep to let any cavalry build momentum, and the width of the road is too narrow to allow a large force to bear its strength simultaneously against the walls. With what I have heard so far of their unrivaled strength, if a dozen heretic warriors and mages blocked the narrowest point on the path, they can hold off a hundred oncoming men-at-arms. The settlers of the village seem to have chosen well to situate themselves in this defensible position."

"It is very curious indeed what the founders of this village were thinking when they picked this remote location. The few feeble records of the local Bann speak of little, except that the village was founded shortly after the death of Andraste. A very peculiar coincidence, I am sure. Add to that the fact that they have sought an isolated, defendable site instead of a more temperate and fertile location says much about their motives. I feel that what we are facing is not a band of ignorant farmers led by a charlatan, but a bastion of ancient secrets back by centuries of preparation. This will not be an ordinary siege."

The two looked grimly at each other, lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

Jack had plenty of experience in infiltration. Though she usually preferred mass destruction, there were some situations where subtlety was called for. Perhaps there was a hostage that she needed to rescue (only to collect the ransom payment herself), or a fragile chip that needed to be extracted quietly. She had sneaked through mercenary camps, slaver bases and other unsavory establishments, but she had never sneaked inside a massive camp of war. With her looks, she would be hopeless in trying to blend in with other soldiers, so she didn't even try. Instead, the former merc stuck to the shadows between the soldier tents where lighting was at its poorest. Her other men could take care of the more high-profile targets. She had her own mission to fulfill.

The rash and foul-mouthed woman might not look like a general, but she wasn't ignorant in the art of war. Being forcibly dedicated to a life of conflict meant she was more than familiar in strategy and tactics. It wasn't much. Most of it was learned the hard way. The best way. The only way. Still, it was enough to analyze how totally fucked she was. Going to war against an entire sovereign nation with an army of just hundreds of soldiers was folly to the extreme. Only their favorable surroundings bought them enough time to come up with a plan.

And she did, no thanks to those idiot cultists. Kolgrim and the other reavers only talked about meeting the army on the field with this or that formation. Eirik and the mages blabbered on about fireballs and earthquakes. All of them assumed the battle would be fought at the newly constructed walls. Pah. To call them walls would be an overstatement. They were more like garden hedges for all she cared. A few of those catapults being worked on by the Arl's dwarven engineers would make Swiss cheese out of her pathetic barrier. Fighting the Ferelden army on their own terms was retarded.

That meant she had to come up with a way to change the terms of battle. Bringing the fight to the enemy seemed like a good idea. She could unleash her powers without any care of injuring one of her subjects. That still brought the question how she would expect to make it out alive though. Throwing a few warps and shockwaves around in the middle of the enemy camp was a good way to sow confusion, but eventually the officers would rally their soldiers. Her biotic barrier wouldn't last long against an onslaught of arrows and magic bolts. She had gotten away with a rampage on Purgatory because the prison ship was compartmentalized and the guards were spread over the entire ship. Here, on open terrain, there would be a lot of congestion, but in the end it would be ridiculously easy to get sniped by archers. Hell, their commander might be crazy enough to risk hitting his own wounded men in order to accomplish a lucky hit.

The powerful biotic lived through chaos. If one way wouldn't cut it, another method could. The Templars would be expecting some sort of show of strength by the dreaded 'maleficar'. She would give them exactly what they expected. All their attention would be on her, leaving her nine other covertly trained scouts free to wreck havoc in their midst.

The question was how to attract enough attention but leave the camp alive. A few biotic demonstrations in the safety of her walls would merely be a curiosity. She had to be inside the Ferelden army's comfort zone in order to shake them out of their veil of safety. Ride up close enough to ram a twenty inch pole up their ass. When Jack reached what she thought was the center of the sleeping terrain, she quietly entered a random tent, making sure not to wake the two oblivious soldiers.

Having left her combat knife and other assorted equipment behind on the Normandy, she had to get a new one from the locals. Most of the high-quality metals Kolgrim described to her were unfamiliar, but instead of letting her choose from a dizzying array of medieval weaponry, the cultist leader had directed her to a display case. With an old, half-rusted key he opened the lock and removed the panel that protected the weapon that was resting on a florid cushion. The tall man lifted up the dagger reverently, and held it out on both palms for Jack to take.

"I would be honored if you would take up this precious artifact as your own. Please, take it, as it is your right."

When she held the shiny red dagger, she was surprised at the sensation upon touching the artifact. The weapon felt like no kind of material she had ever held before. It was as light as the most advanced light-weight plastics, but looked to be as resilient as the toughest Turian hull metal. Jewels and runic decorations covered the hilt and pommel, but the curved blade was left smooth and polished. She rapped a knuckle at the side, trying to hear the echo, and instead of the _ping_ of metal she heard the _knock_ of bone. What _was _this weapon made of? Why did it made her tingle under her skin?

"In a time when rebellions tormented the Tevinter Imperium and dragons ruled the skies, the elven leader Shartan sought to uncover the legacy of his race under ancient ruins. One of those ruins had borne a cache of enchanted weapons. These special swords and spears were intended for their legendary Arcane Warriors, and were known to enhance one's magical prowess. This is the only dagger amongst that cache, and one of the most precious by all accounts. Shartan was so mesmerized by the dragonbone weapon that he had gifted it to you, knowing you despised more cumbersome weapons of war. Upon your betrayal and death, my forefathers tried to recover your equipment from the magisters, but only manage to escape with the dagger. Now, as the elven leader had done before me, I wish to gift you with this legacy of the past, so that you may transform the future."

When the humble Kolgrim said nothing more, Jack snapped out of her daze and said, "Ehh.. yeah.. sure.. I'll take it."

To be honest, she wasn't that much interested in the history of the nameless blade, though its rumored powers certainly caught her attention. Andraste never fought on the field of battle, so the dagger remained unused. Would Jack be the first human to draw blood with this splendid instrument? What would happen then? None of the books in Eirik's library told of any tales about the blade. She had heard of blades that would leave burns and axes that would freeze limbs, but never had she heard about a dagger of bone. Brother Eirik fawned over the ancient elven runes, comparing them with all the known dwarven runestones in his books but coming up short. Whatever influence the runes had on her weapon, she hoped it wouldn't be too flashy.

Covering up the mouth of a soldier with her dragonhide glove, she plunged the curved tip of her blade through the ribs and straight into the heart. The grizzled man's eyes snapped open and his back arced up for a moment, but he quickly collapsed shortly after. Jack's ornate blade had done nothing to reveal its magical properties during its first taste of blood. Somehow, she was slightly disappointed it didn't spark out bolts of lightning or glow ominously red. Oh well, even if it used to be a glorified letter opener, it was still a serviceable blade. The biotic quickly dispatched the other soldier, leaving her all alone at the moment in the dark and out of sight.

Now, to make a splash.

The biotic had rested three days to be able to pull off this move. She had vested an enormous amount of energy in her reserves. It was time to put it into use. Putting her dagger back in its sheath, Jack plunged both her palms against the soil.

_Huff. Huff. Huff._

Like an athlete preparing for a jump, Jack prepared her body for the physical strain she was about to suffer. Her breathing became shallower and louder, and her chest expanded and contracted more dramatically. Then, in her next exhalation, a soft blue light bloomed suddenly along her entire being. The bald biotic moaned softly as she expended fully half of her reserves, five times more than she had ever let loose in a single instant. Her power gathered just under the surface of her body, making her skin glow bright with blue potential under her dragon hide armor.

With visible agony she started to flex her muscles and will her mind into directing all that power. Slowly, but surely, the glow of light started to pool upwards, from her legs to her stomach, from her stomach to her chest, from her chest to her shoulders. Everything above and beneath was pushed to those spots, creating two flaring points of light. Blood spurted out of her nose as Jack tried to concentrate in containing the mass of strength. She felt like she was holding back the might of a dreadnought on her shoulders. Any moment longer and she would risk losing control, with disastrous consequences to her body.

When she felt she couldn't compress the two balls of light any further, Jack shifted her intent like a bat striking a ball. Instantly the lights travelled along her arms and through her open palms. The fiery concentration of biotic finally left her ruined and exhausted body, leaving her to collapse in an undignified heap.

**BOOM!**

A terrible noise louder than the crack of a Thanix cannon reverberated throughout the entire camp. The few wakeful off-duty soldiers who were trying to get a glimpse inside the blue glowing tent were rent apart in fleshy pieces as a ring of biotic eruption erupted from the ground. Others nearby were tossed away like dolls, only to land with heavy bruises or broken bones. The violent fountain of blackness and blue had dissipated as quick as it had appeared, but only a second later a wider concentric ring erupted with much of the same force. The enormous display of fury cut right through six tents that were unfortunate enough to be in the way, blasting apart the oblivious men and women who had just woken up from the commotion. Arms, legs and other pieces of blood-soaked meat were strewn around, leaving hot red stripes on tent canvasses or smacking against the faces of astonished onlookers. Those were torn apart or blasted away next as their compatriots had endured before with the third eruption.

The rapid explosions and the screams that followed was merely a repeat of the display that has occurred before, only in a larger scale. Increasingly wider circles appeared and disappeared without warning, spiking out of the soil to impale the unsuspecting and the panicking alike. The rest who were close to the impacts were strewn away, toppling tent poles or crashing into fellow soldiers as the circles of destruction continued to spread amongst the sleeping camp.

The only thing that saved the troops further away was the decreasing strength of the shockwaves. By the tenth wave the explosive component was much diminished, though the lethality of a direct hit remained. On the sixteenth wave the pattern eroded to merely bone-crushing blows. Still, the ever-widening reach of the biotic's wrath had engulfed more and more victims with injuries and deaths.

If the Fereldens thought they were in enough shape to storm the walls, they weren't now. While the casualties were limited in the larger scheme of events, the damage to morale and the resources needed to treat the hundreds of injured would postpone the assault.

Not that Jack was thinking about any of those thoughts. Still remaining amongst the two dead, she was only able to lift up her lifeless body long after her initial assault had finished. The strain on her muscles was much greater than she had anticipated, and it almost broke her in half. She lifted up her trembling palms, gazing the scorched skin with a mix of fear and pain.

"Damn.."

The plan originally called for her to follow up her initial attack with a rampage towards the command tent. However, it was pretty clear to her that her overburdened body could not handle any further strain.

For the moment, she could do nothing but stumble out of the ravaged tent. The cacophony of screams and despair assaulted her ears. It was none of her concern, of course, except that it was POUNDING her fucking head.

"Shut.. **UP!**"

With a strong gesture she flung her arm outwards, forming a mighty telekinetic push that tossed away a handful of soldiers.

"It's the witch! She's the one responsible!"

A few of the men immediately ran away, but the braver souls held their ground and retrieved their swords and axes. Jack hardly noticed the men spreading out in a loose circle around her as she was still dealing with the effects of her exertion.

'_God it feels my muscles are on fire!'_

A single swordsman stepped forward, brandishing his two-handed monstrosity as if she was facing a dragon. How close that warrior was to the truth…

Jack smirked and spat before the burly woman's feet. "Is that all you got?"

"Ye won't 'ave that perty smile on ye face when ahm done with ye."

One of Jack's fists began to glow blue, but the increasingly painful strain made her reconsider. Instead, she pulled her arm behind her back and looked the woman in the eye. "In my world we have an old saying: never bring a sword to a gunfight." And before the soldier could process her words, she whipped up her submachine gun and sprayed right into the woman's face. All the other men who weren't stunned by the strange sight started to converge right at her regardless of how many men would fall.

Oh, she would be enjoying this.

* * *

Others who were stationed far from the destruction were being called to arms by the insistent clanging of bells and other alarms. Mages retreated from their fading slumber to grab their staffs and rods while the small templar contingent was keeping a close eye on them. Duncan and Collin abandoned their banter to survey the destruction before them. Once they realized the gravity of the situation, they immediately grabbed their arms and raced towards the commotion in order to prevent it from descending any further into chaos.

"Wait!" A powerful voice boomed, stopping the two veteran warriors in their tracks. "I demand you explain this wanton destruction! What is happening to my men?"

Arl Saramond, resplendent in his battle armor, charged up to the Warden-Commander and Templar-Commander with an array of heavily armed knights. "Is this one of your idiot mage's doing?"

The Templar-Commander grew enraged. He grasped the noble's neck with his gauntlet and squeezed the breath out of the man. "This is no time to dawdle around! Look around! Your army is under attack. Your men are dying. You _must_ rally your men or our army will fall apart!"

The knights around them unsheathed their swords and drew their points towards the new threat. Duncan blocked some of them off. "You do not want to do that. The realm of magic and demons is governed by the Chantry. His authority exceeds your lord's authority in this campaign."

They wavered, long enough for the arl to regain his senses and see the flaring blue explosions further ahead. With a frustrated shrug he pushed the grizzled templar aside and signaled his men to ease up. "Fair enough. I know where my duty lies. Now get out of my bloody sight while I bring my army into shape." The noble turned. "Rally the archers! And the mages! Maker's cock, bring the siege weapons in position as well! Who knows what's out there!"

"Y-Yes milord!"

Seeing that the arl was back in his senses, Templar-Commander Collin turned to Duncan. "I must go back to my own men and assemble a squad of witch hunters. I know that the Grey Wardens do not fight against sorcery and witchcraft, but as a friend, I implore you to hold off the witch long enough for my men to arrive."

Ever shrewd, Duncan held Collin's arm and drew him close. "I travelled to the Frostback Mountains alone. I expect to leave with a companion. A young, skilled and healthy templar would do nicely."

Collin's lips grew thin. "If that is your price, so be it. You may have two if you manage to deliver the deathblow yourself. It is a pittance, all things considered."

Duncan went on his way, apprehensive on meeting this Risen Andraste in battle but managing not to show it. With the panic and chaos all about, it wouldn't be good for morale if the men saw a Grey Warden gripped in fear. Drawing his twin blades, he started to dash towards the sounds of rapid impacts.

'_Is that the repeatable weapon that templar was speaking of?'_

Now that he was close enough to see the fight take place, his chest took in. Trained infantrymen who had dedicated their entire life to soldiering were cut down like rabbits. The witch, a surprisingly thin and fragile-looking figure, wielded a strange metal contraption that seemed to spew continuous death, only pausing when it discharged a glowing piece of metal. The cursed woman pulled out an identical piece out of her pocket and inserted it on the weapon's socket, allowing it to fire again.

It wasn't as if the Warden was eager to square up against a new and unknown opponent. The Grey Wardens lived to fight the darkspawn – everything else was outside their mandate. Their past involvement in a rebellion had even resulted in their organization's exile from Ferelden. Duncan wished he wasn't pressed to interfere in what was by all rights an internal matter, but the timing couldn't have been any worse.

He could feel it in his blood. The whispers, the voices. His nightmares became more fierce, more focused, more clarifying. An Archdemon was afoot, he was sure, and it must have been responsible for the growing horde of darkspawn in the Korcari Wilds. It was no mere coincidence the darkspawn chose to gather in his country when it was at its weakest. That was why it was of the utmost importance that King Cailan would have the full force of his army at his disposal. Letting this upstart sorceress persist in draining valuable manpower and drawing ever larger armies to quell her rebellion would disastrous.

Past Blights had been fought throughout the entirety of Thedas, requiring years of sacrifice. thousands of Grey Wardens and millions of foot soldiers throughout the civilized world would lay down their lives in order to extinguish the great threat. Before this next Blight would be over, many widows will be made and whole cities would be burned to the ground. Every soldier, every officer and every noble was needed to occupy the Archdemon's inexhaustible horde. Every day that could be purchased was another day for the Grey Warden's main force in Weisshaupt Fortress to locate and exterminate the corrupted Old God.

For better or worse, this foul distraction before her must be eliminated in order for Ferelden's army to proceed.

Taking to the shadows, Duncan eased his rapid pace in order to sway his motions with the wind. Keeping far out from any torches or burning tents, he maneuvered himself amongst the begging and crying much like a mabari warhound with prey in its mind. With the ease of a predator he stalked up the woman's blind spot while counting the duration of her weapon's discharge. If there was one flaw to this newfangled weapon, it was that its capacity was predictably regular.

_Click._

Now! His right arm rose with his favored shortsword at the ready. Lifelong training took over as he fixated on the armored back of the witch, as if his target was just another hurlock emissary.

_'Three. Two. One.' _And as the witch was still preoccupied with both her arms, Duncan struck with all his might in one, single killing blow.

_**Clang!**_

"I've seen craftier bastards try out something stupid like that. Bad idea."

"Why persist in—" But before Duncan could say anything else, the witch snapped up her elbow and it took all of his lifetime of experience to throw his body violently away. The thin projectile that left the barrel grazed his arm but had done no further damage. _'Where did that bullet come from? This weapon functions differently than Qunari blunderbusses.'_

The abomination finished loading her clip, but the Warden rolled his body away from the oncoming fire. He knew he wouldn't last long under the onslaught, so he flung his dagger towards his opponent. Some invisible magic shield blocked its path, but the magics within that precious blade chose to ignite, blasting the witch head on with roiling flame.

"ARRGHH! YOU FUCKER!"

As the foul witch retreated from the flames with her arms over her eyes, Duncan took the opportunity to start a crouching run. Scooping up his falling dagger, he continued on and readied himself for another piercing strike.

The woman chose at that moment to lift up a glowing blue foot and stomp it on the ground before her. The ensuing shockwave pushed Duncan off his feet and on his back with a more than painful crack. Whatever damage he sustained, he wasn't in any position to pause. He rolled sideways to dodge the incoming stream of bullets and took cover behind a fallen tree log.

_Click._

Duncan immediately raised himself from his cover and flung his dagger yet again. The woman had obviously expected the move and let the blade sail away from her bending figure.

The demonic lady smirked as she slipped her free hand in her pouch, then stopped as she continued to rummage through her small pack.

"Out of ammo. You lucky son of a bitch."

Wary of any surprises but confident her contraption had exhausted itself, Duncan moved from his cover and approached the witch with a healthy dose of respect. Whoever she was, she was used to fighting, steeped in it even. He withdrew a thin knife from his torso holster at the same time the woman drew her own dagger, obviously an old but powerful relic. Defeating her blade and her sorceries would take momentous effort. It was good fortune that he only needed to delay her until the templars arrived. He merely had to delay her escape.

The two warriors circled around, measuring up their opponents and readying themselves for the first blow. Some of the arl's men were readying themselves in a circle, but were more poised to observe than to lend a hand.

_'So it is to be a duel then. Fine.'_

"May I have the honor of knowing your name, milady?" The Grey Warden asked with a light-hearted tone. Anything to buy further time.

"Sure, I'd love to—" Her palm went up and a blast went out. Duncan narrowly dodged the pushing wave, but then had to parry the woman's lunge. "—carve my name on your flaccid dick!"

They traded blows for a minute. Duncan had the advantage of having two weapons, but the witch seemed to use her open hand as a weapon onto itself with its flaring blue sorceries. The slow-moving ball of the foulest energies was especially dangerous, negating gravity and trapping hapless onlookers in its nefarious grasp.

But he was not without his tricks, most of it learned from his thieving days. He kicked up the sand, spat towards the eyes when convenient, flung jars of poison and flame. Nevertheless, the puzzling witch seemed to dodge his tricks with ease, as if she had seen it all before.

As Duncan could never parry any of the lady's magical attacks, he had to dodge far more than his stamina could handle. Already his breath began to wheeze and his movement began to slow. His only comfort was that his opponent also seemed to be as winded as he was. Perhaps her initial surprise attack had taken much out of her body. That begged the question how he would fare if the witch was fully rested.

Nothing good he imagined. That was why it was so important to stop the foul mage before she could escape and become a further drain on Cailan's resources.

"No good will come of your defiance to the King. Your abject refusal to submit to his will and law brings only further doom upon yourself. If not through the might of an arl, then through the armies of the three neighboring arls. If that is not sufficient, then Teyrn Loghain will march down himself with the full might of Ferelden!"

His opponent was not impressed.

"You know," The bald magician spoke as she kept away from Duncan's reach. He made a few feints, and a few lunges, but the woman appeared to read his moves. "I don't care a rat's ass about your dumbass king. He can drown in his own shit if he decides to throw his army against me. I'm not afraid."

More men had come to arms, including a score of longbowmen and Circle mages. They were holding off out of a respect of their duel. Or due to something else.

Just as well they did not interfere. Not that he was bothered by the slaughter that would ensue if they would storm against the witch's magic, but the brawl might cause enough confusion his opponent to escape.

The gleam of plate and the shine of purple silk blinked in the distance. The templars would be upon them soon. Just one more minute. _'The witch must not suspect.'_

Aiming to kill, Duncan lunged with both his swords, forcing the dagger-wielding brute to dodge. He turned his longest blade into a swing and pulled back his dagger to follow up with a stab. The woman parried, dodged and flung increasingly feeble magics at his relentless assault. Now that he knew her magic was purely of a physical dimension instead of more esoteric features such as confusion or enchantment, he knew how to keep her attention occupied.

The Grey Warden lashed out with a sudden kick as he felt his sword thrust parried away. The metal boot his the woman's shinguard hard, caushing her to stumble on her feet. He rapidly followed up with a stab of his dagger and a knee towards her bending form.

She saw the knee coming and moved to avoid it, right in the way of his tip. His dagger pierced the though dragonskin armor and plunged into the woman's shoulder. The woman cried in a mix of agony and anger, and almost caused her to drop her dagger. Spotting his chance, he hammered his own spare weapon against her weapon, leaving himself free to stab her other shoulder with all his weight. The woman collapsed harshly on all fours, trying to hold her weight against Duncan's relentless crush into her two shoulder blades.

"You'll pay for that!"

With no warning at all, she pushed her upper body off the ground. Surprised at her strength, Duncan had no time to contemplate as her right hand formed a blue glowing fist that impacted right in the middle of his chest. The ornate metal partially collapsed in on itself as the enormous blow negated all the grandmaster enchantments he had so laboriously recovered. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he looked in astonishment at the fist boring into his chest.

Then, the blue swirl ignited, flinging his anchorless body away with surprising force and ripping away his grip on his twin weapons. His landing against a collapsed tent was truly fortunate – if his back had impacted against anything harder, he was sure it would have broken a couple of vertebrae.

The first thing the Grey Warden did when he regained control was to detach his sunken breastplate. The easing of the pressure on his chest relieved him greatly. Next was to retrieve his largest healing poultice, which he drank in one big gulp. Already his cuts started to seal as his broken ribs started to meld back together. It wasn't enough to put him back into fighting shape, but at least it eased the pain. The damage seemed to be more extensive than he thought.

With the flash of plate he was finally relieved he would play no further role in this battle. The templars, all led personally by Templar-Commander Collin, had barged their way through the camp and moved to surround the wounded witch. Intimidated soldiers moved away to make more space for these fearsome Chantry warriors. One brave templar moved to behead the woman against Collin's orders. His raised longsword chopped down towards the thin sorceress' neck, only to have the soil underneath him explode in a furious blue spike.

Holding his two-handed warhammer at the ready, Collin cried out an order to his men. "Keep your distance! Stand ready to smite all magics from her cursed body!"

Their weapons glowed in white-hot energies. Raising them in the sky, they all chanted "By the Maker's will, we shall pass judgment upon your wretched soul! _**Holy Smite!**_"

Several things happened at that moment. First, a glow emerged from the dreaded witch's body, one that was both blue and white. Second, the body floated off the muddy ground, as if the Maker himself had grasped the almost lifeless body. Empty eyes stared up at him as Duncan continued to stay mesmerized at the spectacle. After a short pause, the light on the templars' weapons intensified, and the glow that surrounded the witch's body imploded inwards. The body vibrated just before a veritable orchestra of vicious red blood and foul blue energies exploded outwards from cuts all over her resilient armor. Even the templars, weighted down in full plate armor, could not keep their feet against the earth.

Limping his injured body up and holding an arm against his chest, Duncan dragged himself towards the relieved but vigilant Templar-Commander. "Is it done?"

"I think it is. The more powerful the mage, the greater the Maker's retribution. But I suppose it is best to be sure."

Only slightly winded, Collin made a brisk pace towards the bloodied corpse. His guard was up – there was no telling what other unknown powers the powerful mage possessed. Though the woman looked thoroughly dead with the massive amounts of blood and Duncan's two remaining blades pierced on her shoulders, templars have dealt with all manners of deception. The Templar-Commander was light on his feet, ready to dodge if the ground itself became an enemy. As he neared into range he raised his hammer with both his hands, ready to plunge the enormous weight on the woman's fragile bald skull.

_Crash!_

The hammer had hit the skull, but instead of smashing the false prophetess' head into pulp, the silverite hammerhead shattered into pieces by some strange reddish barrier. Astonished, Collin still had the foresight to dash backwards for any further surprises. The witch that they had thought was dead slowly raised her face from the mud and stared with glowing red eyes at the old templar. With one broken and shaken arm, she raised a hand towards him with the knuckles towards him. Four of the fingers on that hand slowly bended inwards, letting one middle finger remain upright.

"Fuck…. You." And the hand dropped to the blood-soaked ground again.

What followed was a deeply guttural scream that continued long past any human's capacity of breath. The pitch started high, as one would expect from a woman. But then the voice started to lower, becoming deeper and louder. Everyone nearby was wracked with strange and unnerving vibrations, as if the ground shook in unison to the enemy's warcry. When it finally seemed the woman was out of breath, she took in another gulp of air and let loose an even more bellowing cry that was infused with both anger and pain.

Duncan's swords suddenly flew away from the woman's back as something frighteningly demonic poured out of the cuts. Blood, bone and rapidly forming flesh bulged out of the woman's tiny back and flowered upwards as a tree. But this was not a tree at all. In the span of a few seconds, a pair of draconic wings twice the height of a man had grown. The grotesque outgrowths twitched, shaking off droplets of cursed blood like a newborn demon. The powerful limbs then swept up air against the encircling templars, pushing them back or off their feet.

"Mages, archers, fire at will!"

A barrage of physical and magical projectiles flung from all direction towards the disgusting creature as the templars cleared the area to avoid the more widespread spells. Fireballs, ice storms, hexes along with dozens of steel-tipped arrows bombarded the area for close to half a minute. When the mages finally ran out of steam, the dust started to clear.

The witch was still alive. Her eldritch purple wings had encased her vulnerable form against the elemental offensive. A few stray arrows kept flying in, but the hardened wings bounced them off as if they were toothpicks.

It was her turn now.

The front enclosure opened up like an iris, revealing the ominous twin red glows. Her dragon hide armor – which should have been lifeless – had taken an organic shape, with many horrible spikes grown out of the places where previously there had been cut. Her very form raised a shudder in Duncan's heart. _'She looks much like the Archdemon in my dreams._'

The witch's black lips opened, revealing two crooked rows of pointed carnivore teeth. Her chest heaved in, as if preparing for another thunderous bellow.

Instead of air, a concentrated ball of red sorcerous flame left her enchanted mouth, travelling rapidly towards the nearest clump of templars and archers. Both groups were engulfed in the massive explosion that followed. The dragontine witch then scrambled on her four limbs and turned away to scorch another group of closing templars with the same blast of fire. Seeing the men and women having their faces melt to bone and cooked alive in their armor made the cruel woman laugh in horrendous pleasure. Collin led the remaining six templars in a desperate charge, but the witch drew her wings inward before stretching them open in another blast of air, flinging the heavily armored warriors aside.

"You.. are **NOTHING!**" She bellowed in her unnaturally deep and tearing voice before arcing upwards to growl in the night.

One veteran sharpshooter managed to maintain his calm amongst the dead and dying. The soldier had hid himself between a pair of fallen tents and held his ironbark shortbow ready for a clean shot to present itself. With the templars out of the way, there were no more obstructions. Stringing an elf-flight arrow on his string, he drew the bow forward and the end of the arrow to his eyes. He accounted for the distance and wind in little more than three heartbeats before he let the string loose.

The arrow flew true to its name. Like a straight lance it traversed the distance between them in an almost perfect course towards the witch-dragon's mouth.

_Crack!_

Instead of piercing the soft inner throat of the bewitching creature, the arrow was stopped in its place by the uneven teeth of the woman's mouth. Another crack rang as her jaw clenched, snapping the arrow in half. The abomination grinned savagely as she spat the blood-soaked arrow tip from her mouth and directed her menacing gaze directly at the offending archer. Even as further arrows and spells bombarded her wings, she kept her focus fixed on the scruffy bearded man who dared to put an arrow in her mouth.

She couldn't let it stand. No one messed with Jack.

With a loping gait, she thundered through the cold night and reached the unfortunate soldier faster than anyone could track. Her gigantic momentum slammed against the body of the larger and heavier man, stunning him and knocking the breath out of him. His limbs flapped in the wind as the deceptively thin woman continued to run onward, holding her stinging claws tight against her prey. Her next howl shattered the man's eardrums, making him unable to hear his own frightened cries. Mercifully, his terror was cut to an end by a deep bite in his neck. The monster tore out a healthy chunk of skin and flesh and gulped it without so much as chewing it. Her laughter continued to ring throughout much of the camp as she reached a small cliff and jumped into the air with her dying prize.

The silhouette of dragon wings slowly shrank against the backdrop of the narrow moon.

It was then that Duncan dared to stand up again to survey the destruction around him. Only savaged corpses, separated limbs and burned out husks greeted his sight. The cries of pain and begging, present from the start, had all but dulled his war torn ears. A soft clanking approached his injured form. The warden turned to see the bruised and slightly scorched Templar-Commander. His magnificent silk warskirt was torn, bloodied and smouldering – much like a sizable portion of the war camp.

The tired and defeated templar eyed his fellow warrior with lazy fatigue. "I can hardly believe you managed to last so long against this monstrosity. You Grey Wardens… your reputation is clearly deserved. I wished I could say the same about my templars…"

"Do not look down on your performance. This is a new enemy we are facing, one that no one has ever seen before. I think she merely toyed with me in our duel, and you could not have anticipated her visceral reaction to your templar magics."

The determined man shook his head. "We have clearly underestimated this new threat. Now that we have the measure of our opponent I shall have to call in reinforcements from other neighboring Chantries."

Duncan put a firm hand on the templar's shoulder plate. "What we need is not more templars. We need Nevarran dragon hunters."

* * *

Jack finished tearing off the archer's thick and juicy liver with her pointed teeth. She threw the dripping organ into the air and scorched the meat with a spray of dragonfire. As the soft but deliciously cooked meat landed on the cold stone floor of the great hall, she dug in. Slowly she had chewed away at the dead man's flesh. Some raw, like the eyeballs and tongue, and some almost cooked to char like the heart and muscle. The carcass had slowly stripped down in a grotesque display of bone and unwanted flesh, such as the intestines and other unsavory bits. Her wings twitched in contentment as she tore of the man's flaccid manhood, throwing it towards the wary but eager stray dogs.

Nibbling a separated ball, she eyed the full village council standing ready before her throne, Kolgrim at the lead. The other refugees who had made their home in the large hall were continuing on their own way, only noting briefly the new protrusions on their prophetess' back. Instead of screaming in terror, they just looked even more worshipful than before, then happily went on their way to sleep or have a late night snack. A bold ten year old who had woken up from the commotion even dared to sneak close, stealing a discarded femur. The giggling boy waved the bloody bone at the dogs, who yipped excitedly as they all chased after him. Everything was good.

As Jack smiled at the sight, a sharp pain grew in her forehead. She dropped her half-chewed dessert and collapsed to the floor, waves of roiling pain travelling through her limbs. The sensations concentrated on her eyes, her mouth and her shoulders. With a piercing cry she shuddered as the newly grown wings started to shrink in on itself, drawing flesh and bone back into her shoulders. Her teeth even out and her eyes lost their intense red glow. As the transformation finished, the Risen Andraste had reverted to her mortal shape.

It was then that Kolgrim deemed it ready to order maidservants to attend to the half-conscious lady. The waiting servants poured in from around them and began to strip the spiked armor from Jack's tired body. Another pair of young women scrubbed the blood and other muck that stained their lady's bare flesh before letting an older woman massage Jack's tired muscles with a soft and fluffy towel. The remaining servants then put on a flowing red robe on the holy lady, adding rings and necklaces to complete the new visage.

As the maidservants retreated, a pair of unarmed reavers lifted up their lady's surprisingly light body and carefully carried her to her waiting throne. Only then did she seem to return to lucidity.

"Ergh… my head is fucking pounding. Get me something to drink."

A steward hurried to step up to the dais to present a goblet of pleasantly warmed wine. Jack took the silver container and upended it on her waiting mouth, not caring a single bit about splashing her recently cleaned face and her expensive silk garments. Flinging the goblet away, she turned back to her waiting council, who sat kneeling with their heads bowed to the floor.

"Stand up already you dorks. Tell me how it went."

Kolgrim, as always, stepped forward from the rest and began his report. "Seven out of nine of our infiltrators have returned. The remaining two are unaccounted for, and it is unknown whether they have accomplished their missions. The scouts who have made it to us alive have all reported success in their missions. The siege engines have been burned or destroyed, their dwarven engineers have been assassinated, and the cavalry horses were freed from their pens. More importantly, a small amount of provisions have been tainted with your blood. If our enemy does not suspect any ulterior motives to your recent attack, then the spreading of your glory will proceed as planned."

"…Good. Looks like I haven't been through the ringer in vain. That would have sucked. Now, all we have to do is wait and see how our little Arl reacts to the shit thrown in his face. This'll be good."

The cackling laughter resounded throughout the hall and beyond in the open night.

* * *

**End Notes: **Yes, Jack is a crazy bitch. Maybe a bit crazier in this fic than in the game, but that is just my personal preference. As I've already stated in my first chapter, I'm not going to repeat what eighty percent of other DA fanfics have done and follow the Grey Wardens' adventure to the letter. I just want to write something different, something fresh and something with a different flavor than the staple fics out there. Clearly, Jack's alignment is more Renegade than Paragon, and it will get much crueler and crazier than it is right now. Hey, I enjoy light-sided campaigns in KOTOR, NWN, DA and ME like any other average videogamer, but sometimes I just want to let loose my inner demon. Too bad I chose a female as my main character – can't build up a lame and cliché harem of brainless bimbos.


	5. Fucked from behind

November 1, 2010  
Revised: July 29, 2011  
By RahXephon [847246]

**Author's Notes:** Fast update.

* * *

_**Dragon Age: Jack Effect**_

_Fucked from behind_

* * *

The smoke was still smoldering by the time dawn had finally broke. The Warden-Commander of all of Ferelden looked with a touch of sorrow at the remnants of last night's slaughter. Unharmed soldiers were using wheelbarrows to cart the many wounded to the overwhelmed army physicians. Their blood-soaked bonesaws rang throughout the morning. The rhythmic sawing sounds were accompanied by the now-familiar screams. The scores of dead were unceremoniously dumped into carts to be hauled away to the growing funeral pyre. A score of cavalry riders – those managed to retrieve their mounts from the wilderness – were patrolling the outer perimeter of the camp and keeping a wary eye for any follow up attacks.

A liveried elf servant arrived at his side. The manservant wore a tabard of mountains with the sun to the east. "Sire Grey Warden? Arl Saramond of Eastfrost expects you in his command tent."

Nodding, he followed the diminutive elf to the imposing blue pavilion. He entered to find a sight of grumbling nobles with the arl himself at the lead. Templar-Commander Collin and Reverent Mother Arlan held to themselves behind the arl's seat, hanging over the highest-ranking noble as if to state their threat. At Duncan's entry, Saramond banged his fist on the sturdy table, signaling the start of the meeting. The warden turned down a seat at the table and took his position to the left of Collin in order to emphasize his irregular nature.

"My fellow noblemen," The tired-looking arl began. "Thank you for attending this meeting. First I wish to thank banns Fairland and Grenn for arriving this morning with fresh supplies. They were sorely needed. With that out of the way, I hereby call this war council into session. Let us begin."

The arl took a piece of paper from a servant and scanned it soberly. "I hold here the butcher's bill, a bill that is still growing in cost at this very moment. Last evening, when half of you somehow managed to stay asleep despite the camp-wide alarms," The arl looked none to friendly at that, and threw several pointed glares to a couple of shame-faced men and women. "An enemy raid has taken place at this very fortified position. None of our extensive sentries have detected the infiltrators, a failure that I take very deeply."

"The sentries were for the most part _your_ men, Saramond. It is only right for you to take responsibility."

Glaring at the offending bann, the arl continued. "As I was saying, while the number of infiltrators is unknown, it is clear that they are at least affiliated with the rebel cultists. One of them was certain to be this heretic witch that has been leading the rebellion, one who is referred to as the Risen Andraste. We can base this fact by the sheer amount of destruction she has caused in the western sleeping section. An unkown spell fueled by unknown energies erupted in the middle of the west camp shortly after midnight. The few surviving and coherent witnesses who were awake at that time have described it as a series of blue erupting circles, each following one of a larger diameter than the previous eruption. Those who were caught in the middle were blasted apart by physical force. Those who were standing near were pushed by a weaker but more dispersed force. From the tracks the initial attacks have left, it can be ascertained that a total of twenty rings have erupted, the last one growing beyond the west camp and hitting some of the sentries patrolling in the area."

"How many casualties did that attack claim?"

"Uncertain, but some hundreds I am sure. The amount of dead and wounded that have been harvested in the initial attack and any further strikes is hard to separate, but the majority of them occurred in that single destructive spell I am sure. In any case, what followed was a valiant effort by Duncan to occupy the sorceress." The arl nodded respectfully at the Grey Warden, who nodded back in response. "And when he was finally defeated – but not before heavily wounding the witch – the templars arrived to take his place."

Grimacing, the arl felt none too pleased to utter his next words. "Unfortunately, their Maker-blessed powers proved counter-effective, allowing in some way for the witch to unleash even greater powers. Maybe I am mistaken which side the Chantry is on…"

Templar-Commander Collin chose to interrupt at this moment despite the protocol. "The witch wielded new and surprisingly effective weaponry in addition to displaying new forms of powerful magics. Our templars have been trained to combat demons and magic _that has been known to us_. This new threat, wielding energies from two distinct new schools, posed a danger none of the Chantry has ever faced before. Despite the hazards, we, the templars of the Ferelden Chantry of Andraste, stayed true to our mission and dared to enter combat with this monster. I can only say the same of Duncan. Your soldiers, arl, were content to stay in the background, daring only to attack with arrows or spells. I think the sacrifice of seven of my men is enough of a statement of our courage and honor."

An uncomfortable silence ensued as the Templar-Commander cowed the arl with his penetrating gaze. Duncan decided it would be a good moment to interject. "Ah, Arl Saramond, can you recite the casualty figures for us, please?"

"Yes.. er certainly. It says here that.. approximately a hundred-and-forty soldiers have died outright. Another hundred-and-eight have succumbed to their grievous wounds. Three-hundred-and-sixty-two have sustained a variety of injuries, of which eighty are permanently crippled and a hundred-and-twenty are out of action for this foreseeable campaign. That is a total of 610 casualties, but the dead and wounded are still trickling in by the dozens. My knights have estimated that by the end of a day, up to a quarter of our total military manpower will become.. indisposed."

"A quarter of our army?" An enraged bann shouted, banging her gauntleted fists against the table. "By a _single_ apostate? How could you have let this happen! What will I tell my freeholders? What will I tell the families who have entrusted their second-born or third-born to a life of duty to the bann and the king?"

A few other banns shouted their frustrations and abuse to their rivals and the arl in command. Saramond let the petty nobles play their game for a while before raising a single palm. "As a vassal to the king, I have asserted his right to rule all lands east of the Frostback Mountains by assembling an army to crush the rebels held up in the village of Haven. You as banns of Ferelden have a duty to respond to my call to arms and lend your militia to King Cailan's rightful cause. Usually, popular revolts of this magnitude require nothing more than a brief show of force to quell the troublemakers in their place. However, this is not your average band of rabble-rousers. We are dealing with a full-blown rebellion to the kingdom of a severity we have all underestimated. Despite our already heavy losses, we must push on with our assault or let other rebels proclaim their own little independent fiefs."

"That's bull crock! How do you expect us to scale those walls after the slaughter we've been through? We haven't even met them in battle and we've already lost a quarter of our total force. How do you expect us to face that dreaded witch again?"

A blond woman raised her elegant chin with pride and spoke up against the last speaker. "My men were one of the most heavily hit by this witch. The survivors all clamor for revenge. The arl is correct in that the villagers are not just a regular band of discontented peasants. Their wicked ways and their bitch of a sorceress must be exterminated from this plane of existence. Whatever it takes."

"Well spoken, Bann Elsind." The arl applauded. "That is why I will prepare the entire army for a full assault on the rebel's village at dawn tomorrow."

"That's outrageous!" "Dawn is far too soon!" "My men are in terrible shape!"

One noble briefly overpowered them all. "But what of our cavalry! And our siege engines! I have heard they have all been sabotaged during the raid."

To some of those present, the news came at a complete surprise. Arl Saramond gestured to a waiting knight, who reported in on the situation. "As far as we can ascertain, the witch's very open assault had the additional benefit of serving as a distraction for more covert intentions. A small band of saboteurs have killed the sentries standing watch over the siege engines and put every catapult and battering ram to the torch. Critical tools have been thrown in the fires or smashed into pieces. Worse, another set of spies have entered the small encampment of the mercenary dwarves and assassinated all six of them in their beds. Our capacity to rebuild the lost siege engines remains, but… it is much diminished unless we find replacements for those dwarves."

"Great. So, Saramond, how do you expect to succeed in your assault with only three-fourths of an army and none of the support that is needed to breach the walls?"

"Ladders shall be sufficient to breach the walls. While far more men have indeed been lost, we still outnumber the village's pathetic militia by at least four-to-one. The walls themselves have been newly constructed and are only three man-heights tall. It will be relatively easy to overwhelm them with our numbers."

"Are you mad?" The same bann responded. "Ladders? It would be a slaughter even if we eventually take the damn walls! Why can't you wait until we get more reinforcements and a decent number of catapults? It would take but a week to—"

"—A week to let that blasted witch recover and plan another devastating raid on our vulnerable camp! How easy do you think she can sneak past our bolstered sentries with her foul enchantments and unleash another spell of circling destruction? I will _not_ compound my humiliation by dragging my honor through the mud. I will in _no_ circumstance beg that uncouth commoner Loghain for aid! The Haven revolt is an internal matter to the arldom's jurisdiction and I intend to end it that way!"

Protests continued to sound from all the banns. Eventually, Collin raised a peculiar point. "May I remind you, milords, that the Sturnberg Chantry has drafted your armies to enforce the Rite of Purification. This army still operates under the direction of the most senior templar official."

The arl snarled back at the heavily armed templar. "You zealots know _nothing _of strategy and tactics! I will not stake my already tarnished reputation and the remaining lives of my men in your inexperienced hands. I know very well the legal wording regarding our partnership. Our armies are to act under your 'direction'. Who says you are allowed to lead it personally? What you want is to have all villagers killed – fine, but I will decide how that will come into being. Remember well where Chantry authority ends and mortal rule begins. If you have a problem with that, take it up with King Cailan."

"That is.. a rather unusual interpretation of the ancient covenants that bind the Chantry and the kingdom." Reverent Mother Arlan commented. She tried to raise a placating hand. "But there is no reason to argue on this issue. I am certain that Templar-Commander Collin," She threw a warning glare at the templar. "Will not interfere with what is rightfully of a purely military domain. However, I cannot help but notice the fierce objections to an early assault. Surely there is more reason to wait for reinforcements than to attack with a force under strength?"

"Reverent Mother Arlan," Saramond began, noticeably restrained. "Have you contemplated whether delay is exactly what the Havenites desire? Their witch-leader has risked her life herself to lead last night's raid when she could have made do with expendable mages. No, the witch needed to do this herself, which means the raid is of high importance to the enemy. What if they only made such a daring attack, dazzling us with their prowess, in order to hide larger vulnerabilities? Maybe they are just buying time for a more devastating weapon to come into play. No, I will not allow my camp to be raided again in such a humiliating fashion. We will storm the walls tomorrow, and that is my final word."

_'And may the_ _Maker help us all.'_

* * *

Jack stood atop the gates with her hands behind her back in her recently mended dragon hide armor. She had seen Shepard take up the very same pose on the bridge when there was something important to be done. It looked sort of.. inspiring, so she thought it would be a good idea to do it herself in order to keep the men up to spirits.

Word of her successful night raid had reached the entire village as soon as she returned. Magicians who had used their magical eyepieces had estimated that she had killed a couple of hundred soldiers outright and wounded more than twice of that amount. The cheers she was greeted with were short but hopeful. Although her blood-slaved subjects would die for their Risen Andraste, they held just enough free will to have some common sense and purpose. Morale was critical in whether a cornered man would fight in desperation or fight for a higher cause. After last night's attack, the oppressive atmosphere that has dominated over the village for weeks had been lifted ever so slightly.

"What do you think?" She asked her ever-present bodyguard, general, principle advisor and whatever else.

The man brushed his large black beard, surveying over the Ferelden war camp through an enchanted quartz that provided magnification. "The camp is astir. Most of the cleanup work is done, but there are much less off-duty soldiers than usual. Most of the men seemed to be directed to the forest further downhill, and the trees there are being stirred. I'd say that they are rebuilding their catapults, but…"

"But?"

"Why would you need over four hundred men to cut a few logs? Catapults require more finesse than manpower to construct, and cannot be built effectively without training or knowledge. Either they are planning to construct siege towers, which are impractical on this terrain, or… they are quickly trying to put together a large amount of siege ladders quickly. That would make more sense, since ladders are simple devices which require almost no direction for the average soldier to put together."

"So they're planning to attack us soon instead of waiting to rebuild their catapults, is that it?" The bald prophetess grinned savagely. "Looks like I fucked them good."

"There is still the matter of their overwhelming superiority in numbers. Even Denerim cannot withstand outnumbered three-to-one, and here we are in an even greater disadvantage in numbers and defenses. We will likely have an advantage in magical capabilities since most of Ferelden's mages still reside in the Circle Tower. However, that will be more than compensated by their vast number of longbowmen. They more than anything are what the Fereldens will rely on to deplete our ranks."

"But what about cover? Can't we build a roof on the walls?"

"I have already thought of that. It would take too much time to raise a stone roof, and wooden cover will just get burned by their spells or fire arrows. The burning debris will just collapse on the men underneath. We have no choice but to rely handheld shields and on our mages to provide cover against arrows, but they both cannot hold against more than ten large volleys of mass arrows."

"We also need the magic to repel the infantry, don't we? Without that, our reavers would be overwhelmed at the walls…"

"Indeed, you see our dilemma. Caltrops, boiling water and rocks will only go so far. Our greatest asset is our numerous unsanctioned mages, but if they are tied up with the enemy archers we cannot use their strengths against the infantry charge."

A few seconds went past as Jack considered the implications. If those archers were out of the picture… "What if I just jump right in the middle of those bowmen and—"

"That is highly unadvisable, milady. Although the narrow pathway leading up to the village will force the archers to bundle together. Their closed ranks will not let you walk into position. Furthermore, they will not let themselves be surprised again. They know what to expect from you now and shall be guarding their flanks vigorously."

"Then how are we supposed to win?"

Kolgrim was silent, then made a hesitant reply. "Through the Maker's will, if nothing else."

As she shook her head, Jack smacked the stone ledge she was leaning on. "So even after my big job last night, it still isn't enough to win. What more do I need to do to drive these fuckers away from my turf?"

The conundrum still bothered her throughout the day as she oversaw her little domain. She toured the rest of the walls to see how the defense was going to be held. She visited the reaver barracks to make certain they made use of the available dragonbone armor that the local smiths have labored day and night to churn out. She visited the scouts patrolling the outskirts to see if they were up to the task of deliver death from afar. She finally made a visit to Reverent Father Eirik and see firsthand what spells would be utilized to shield her men from the deadly volleys of arrows.

"Our mages are well versed in the primal school but not very well in the others, particularly entropy. We can turn our soldier's skin into stone, but there are far too many people for our mages to cover them all. We are therefore forced to project wide-area arcane shields to protect our soldiers from arrows. While an experienced mage can sustain an arcane shield on himself perpetually, maintaining a much larger shield will drain him quickly even if it encounters no enemy fire. The volleys will just drain the shield sooner. So you see, milady, the severity of the demands we are struggling with. While a fair number of us can conjure ice storms upon the enemy position, their own mages are certain to be standing by with counter-spells at their lips. If their Circle mages are dealt with, we would have free reign to unleash our full potential."

So it eventually came down to the archers or the mages. Deal with either of them, then the rest of the Ferelden army would be defenseless. Killing the small band mages would be a lot easier than killing hundreds of archers if they were all together. However, if they were spread throughout the battlefield then tracking them down would be hard. Killing the large formation of archers required nothing less than letting loose another biotic eruption, but she was sure reserves wouldn't be replenished by the time the Fereldens decided to strike.

None of this was easy. There was absolutely nothing she could do. Throwing a few biotic powers around would be but a drop in the bucket concerning the sheer numbers of their opponent. Her firearms were likewise low on thermal clips. The blacksmiths have started to forge newer ones from local materials, but she told them not to bother and concentrate on mass producing armor instead.

There was only one wildcard left, and that was the effect the tainted provisions would have on the upcoming battle. Still, it all depended on chance. It could be that all the tainted grain sacks would be untouched tonight. And even if all the tainted provisions were used up, there would only a hundred affected soldiers at most, since only a tiny portion of about half-a-dozen sacks were tampered with. That would hardly be a disruption. What Haven needed was not a drop, but a flood…

´_Wait, what?'_

Jack straightened up from her brooding form and snatched the magnifying quartz from Kolgrim's calloused fingers. She peered through the blocky surface towards the location of the enemy camp.

A low rumbling chuckle emerged from her slender throat.

* * *

The night was spent with in nervous fits. Though Duncan knew most of all that a good night's sleep before a battle was key advantage, he could not follow his own advice. Besides the din of preparation that went into readying the army of one-and-a-half-thousand men for action, the Grey Warden kept seeing the bald witch in his dreams. Always those ominous red eyes and crooked reptilian wings seemed to silhouette in the darkness, just underneath the grasp of the Archdemon gazing over them. The whispers he could handle and the Archdemon he was used to by now, but seeing the destructive mage on top of that was simply too much for him. He was truly getting too old for his occupation.

Not everyone respected the Grey Wardens, but all were wary of their prowess in battle. To see the commander that led the Ferelden contingent cower in his tent would likely elicit laughs from others, though not from those who had seen the witch firsthand. He was sure many other soldiers slept ill at ease, knowing that the witch might return this very night and perform another spell of mass destruction.

It was thus with great relief he heard the scheduled bells signaling everyone to wake. Duncan buckled his gear and his spare lightweight armor before strapping his two blades on his back. They were the only weapons so far that had tasted the witch's blood. He hoped it would not be so at the end of the day. An elf servant led him to the templar contingent, where he could see Reverent Mother Arlan offering a final prayer to the crowd of desperate soldiers. Collin finished his instructions to his men before joining Duncan.

"I am utmost pleased that you have decided to stay and participate in the battle. Your vaunted skill is sorely needed to hold off the Risen Andraste." The Templar-Commander looked less than satisfied at the many nervous knights that stood at the front row to Arlan's sermon. "The arl's knights have been sorely lacking – none of them even volunteered to take on the rebel leader. It will be up to you, me, and the handful of heavy templars still alive. My younger men will be occupied in keeping an eye on the mages as they disperse themselves throughout the battle formation."

"Do not think too highly of me, Collin." He replied as he gazed at the mass of torches that were starting to move out from the camp. "I only decided to stay because of the Arl's promise to surrender five of his knights. As significant this threat might be, I will not intend to fight to the death if it comes to it. My role in dealing with the surging darkspawn threat is of a much greater importance than this.. smaller incident."

"Understandable, but I am grateful nonetheless. Your presence alone is doing wonders to morale."

The two mounted horses and joined the rest of the templars on horseback. Cavalry was useless in taking over a walled town, but it would serve them well in trying to reach the place where the witch would appear quickly. They followed the lengthy column of infantrymen that were marching orderly up the cold and muddy slope leading to the village. Their shields and swords were stowed away in order to hold up the ladders they would be using the scale the walls. The mass ranks of archers followed behind them, bows unstrung but ready in their arms. A few mounted knights rode back and forth to keep the columns in order and catch any deserter in their tracks. The arl and most of his banns rode up in front in full chainmail armor and livery. A splendid amount of banners hung from the poles of their accompanying knights, proclaiming to all the rebels that retribution was at hand.

As the army reached just beyond extreme archer range, the arl ordered a halt. Trumpets and other brass works sounded over the men, stopping them in an orderly fashion. The infantrymen began retrieving their shields from their back while the bowmen began stringing their bows. Last-minute preparations commenced as sisters of the Chantry mumbled prayers as they swung holy ashes from their gilded lanterns. Elf servants waded through the lines handing out bread or filling pitchers with watered wine to relax the spirit. Some even had the compulsive need to bring out their whetstones and sharpen their blades one last time before they would be sent to the walls.

They could see their opponents before them, just atop the walls. They had desperately worked during the night to complete the sections, hauling rocks from nearby quarries. The grim ranks of heavy soldiers stood at a perfect rank, their kite shields held before them as if to parade the herald painted on its surface. Like the banners placed atop the towers, they depicted a solid red dragon wreathed in flames of blue on a pale yellow background. As if they had spotted Duncan's gaze, the cultists started to rap their weapons against their shields in the beat of drums.

_Thrum. Thrum. Thrum._

It was then that Arl Saramond decided to hold his speech. Any longer, and the men would start to nerve out completely. His strong and powerful voice was amplified by magic to insure it would reach the entire army. "Men of Eastfrost. Men of Eastfrost. Are you ready?"

"HUUHH!" The men shouted in response, raising their shields in salute.

"Are you ready, men of Eastfrost, to exact revenge on these vile rebels?"

"HUUH!"

"I said, ARE YOU READY?"

"HUUUUUUUH!"

"That's what I wanted to hear! Listen to me men for what we are about to do. We shall ride up those flimsy walls, climb up those ladders and teach those pitiful peasants what _real _war is all about! We shall pelt their defenseless positions with so many arrows that they'll be porcupines by the time we reach them! We shall hunt down their unskilled apostates and burn them and crucify them on this hallowed ground! And finally, finally, we shall capture that blasted whore-witch, strip all her clothes, break all her limbs and let every man who has lost a fellow soldier in their company have their way with her! What do you say about that?"

"**HUUUUUUUH!**"

Command flags raised in the air, signaling the infantry to march ahead. Duncan and the templars stayed out of the way with their horses for the column of bowmen to march after their brethren. When the ranks of four hundred archers stepped into range, they started to retrieve an arrow from their quiver in unison. Sergeants wearing red plumed helmets patrolled throughout their formation in order to ensure all the archers were ready. They shouted another order, causing the men and women to raise their longbows at a predetermined angle.

_Whooosh!_

The sound of four hundred arrows being hurled into the sky was unexpectedly deep. A huge cloud of black projectiles sailed in a parabolic arc over the marching infantrymen and landing just atop the walls and the area behind it. A dozen bright blue arcane shields flared into existence, blocking the majority of the simultaneous impact but at great cost. One shield even flickered, letting in almost a quarter of the arrows. Those underneath held their shields overhead to resist the deadly rain, but some arrows managed to penetrate the wooden shield and impale the forearms holding them. Other stray arrows managed to graze or penetrate an unfortunate limb.

_Whooosh!_

The second volley provided more cover for the infantry, suppressing the enemy on the walls and mostly preventing them from firing their own limited amount of arrows. Not that they had that much archers to begin with, probably poachers at the most. The Ferelden warriors still carried their ladders with slight optimism – it was easy to feel confident when your side were throwing hundreds of arrows at a time towards a heavily outnumbered enemy. Arl Saramond and a few of his banns were situated over a low rise, directing slight adjustments to individual companies with his command flags. A gaggle of mounted and dismounted knights surrounded him on all sides, ready to deal with potential assassins, though if they met with the witch herself they'd probably run. Still, both Duncan and the command staff were far enough away and in open ground to ride elsewhere if that witch did appear.

_Whohoosh!_

The third volley was a bit more ragged and uneven. It looked like some of the archers have misaimed a little, their arrows falling short and almost hitting their own infantry. The remainder of the volley hit the defensive line square on however, and the same shield that flickered last time collapsed entirely this time. A lot more arrows have been let through this time, most of them deflected by the shields but from the distant screams, several casualties have fallen. The archer captain paid attention to that occurrence and directed over half of his force to concentrate their fire on that weak point.

Then, as Duncan turned back towards the village walls, he was just in time to witness a drastic turn in the battle. A single tiny figure raised itself from the cover bestowed by the ledge. That person raised a single hand, and a tiny blue light appeared over the open palm. The ball wavered for a moment, as if unsteady and ready to explode. Then a white ring of energy erupted outward, holding stable, the imploded inwards again.

_PHWUSH!_

A sharp stab of light erupted from the ball as it blew up into dust. A faint blue wave front expanded rapidly from that explosion, travelling towards the oncoming army with the speed of an arrow. In an instant the blueish dust passed over the infantry, then the archers, and finally the men who were waiting on their horses. Duncan and most of the others held up their arms or shields to cover their faces as they felt the energy wash over him. A slight pressure tickled his body, but it passed quicker than he thought. What was that all about?

"Calm yourselves, men." Collin spoke solidly as he tried to reassure his templars. "The spell was too dispersed to do any real damage. It was probably just a ruse, something impressive and unnerving enough to scare the army into a halt."

"Then the witch has certainly succeeded." Duncan noted as he looked at the bewildered soldiers who were expecting something… bigger.

Frantic flags waved about from the temporary command post. Arl Saramond was sending the banns out in the field to try to return some semblance of order amongst the befuddled ranks. The rather confused banns themselves went to their task with half-hearted enthusiasm – they were entering into range of enemy counter-fire. Already a straggle of arrows has continued to pelt the infantrymen. Not enough to alarm them, but still a slow drain to their manpower. It took just over a minute for the individual captains to assert controls. Banners bearing the heralds of individual banns rose straight up in the morning sky, signaling that their companies were ready to receive orders. Saramond ordered the advance to resume.

The sun had already breached the eastern horizon and was up for well over an hour. Despite the delay, the timing was still acceptable. The soldiers had their path lighted ahead, while the enemy rebels would have to fight into the sun. It was a small but significant advantage; one of few that their commander was eager to exploit.

The archers, now convinced that nothing was affected by the spell, readied their fabled Ferelden longbows at the proper inclination. The captain raised his palm, eyed the walls in the distance for a few seconds, and then threw it down. Sergeants bellowed as the archers loosened their rain of death. As Duncan traced the volley in the sky, he noticed something peculiar. The volley seemed to split in two. One cloud continued to sail in a familiar arc towards the enemy position. The other less sizable blur seemed to climb a little bit more at a steeper angle. _'Did an order get mixed up? Strange that over a third of the archers had shot from the same wrong angle.'_ But as the errant arrows reached zenith and started to be pulled back down by gravity, Duncan suddenly understood with horrifying clarity where that volley was headed.

The Ferelden footsoldiers never had any warning of the impending doom. Their helmets were squared to the front, eyes ahead to guard against incoming spells or arrows from the rebels. Though many had their shields over their heads, they were inclined towards the enemy in order to deflect their arrows. That was why the initial plunge of over a hundred arrows in their own ranks was so devastating. The amount of deaths and injuries was significant enough for several holes to form within the massive formation. The sheer weight and the unusual angle of the volley stunned the soldiers into halt. Several squads even dropped their siege ladders and turned around to see whether there was an ambush waiting at the back.

That was when hell broke loose. Several mounted knights and banns were riding furiously towards the disarrayed and confused ranks of archers. The archer captain himself grabbed a bowman by the scruff and lifted the slim woman up and yelled something that was lost in the commotion by the time it reached Duncan.

Then, the woman drew out a dagger and plunged it straight into the captain's neck.

The defiant woman raised her bloodied dagger as the captain collapsed and yelled something. A third of the archers echoed her cry. This time Duncan did not miss what had been said.

"FOR THE RISEN ANDRASTE!"

The frenzied archers turned on their fellow brethren, stabbing the backs and slitting the throats of the completely bewildered soldiers. Many of those who simply couldn't comprehend their new situation died outright. The remainder were just quick-witted enough to drop their useless bows and bring out a dagger to defend themselves. Vicious fighting also started amongst the ranks of infantry. A quarter of them began to spread all over and initiated rampages upon their unsuspecting comrades. Lifelong friends and acquaintances turned against each other for no explicable reason. The assault against the village was completely forgotten as all the men were consumed in a battle for survival. The men and women were fighting so desperately against an enemy they could not spot. The lack of uniforms or any other identifying marks meant that many were likely fighting comrades still loyal to the arl. Those who were at the edges of the formation dropped the ladders and ran for their lives.

"This.. this is betrayal on an unimaginable scope!" A templar uttered, shaking in rage on his badly tempered horse. "This is impossible! How could such an astounding number of rebels infiltrate the arl's army?"

"I fear this is the work of sorcery on a much larger scale than we have ever thought possible." Collin replied, putting a hand on the templars arm to discourage him from riding out. "We have encountered many a witch who were able to addle the mind, make you question your loyalty and see enemies in those who are not. I fear that the blue dust that has swept over us has affected us more than it had seemed."

"But the energy required to enchant one's mind requires intense concentration and a lot of mana. Surely that spell was far too dispersed to have any real effect."

"I do not know, templar, I simply do not know."

"What are we waiting for then, we must cleanse the tainted sorceries from their addled minds!"

"No wait!" Collin said in vain as a trio of headstrong templars rode towards the nearest melee. They held their glowing swords in front of their face, then pointed them towards the mass of fighting archers. "_**Cleanse Area**__!_"

A highly visible wash of magical energies descended upon the archers, making most of them pause in their actions. A few even looked at the templars in puzzlement.

Then an arrow was put through the head of the foremost templar.

The other two armored knights fell a few seconds later, their horses and bodies riddled with arrows.

"FOR THE RISEN ANDRASTE!"

With growing horror Duncan, Collin and the remaining three templars could only watch as the arl's army tore itself apart from the inside. The rebels on the walls have not stood idle during the mass confusion. The heavy footsoldiers had descended from the top of the walls to make way for archers and mages. The archers focused their volleys on pockets of organized resistance, ensuring that the chaos would continue. The rebel mages on the other hand were embroiled in a magical duel with their Ferelden counterparts. Unlike the isolated and spread out Circle mages, the apostates could benefit from the mutual protection of a few dedicated defensive wards. Fireballs were frozen in their tracks. Lightning bolts diverted harmlessly into a raised mound of earth. Mana-draining spells were turned back against their casters. Everything thrown at the mages atop the walls simply didn't have any effect. On the other hand, the rebels were free to focus their fire on one mage at a time, overwhelming defenses and utterly obliterating the mage and his templar escort. One by one the the Chantry sanctioned mages fell, until the remaining ones just abandoned the battle like so many of their non-magical brethren. Having taken care of their greatest threat, the mages were free to support the archers in causing further disruption.

The gates of Haven were raised. An outpour of hellish red armored soldiers emerged from the tiny opening. Their thunderous charge seemed to shake the earth even from Duncan's position. The loyal swordsmen and archers who were desperate to survive but still held on to discipline had finally broke at the sight of hundreds of mad berserkers closing in on them. They threw down their weapons and anything else that was weighing them down and ran down the mountainside like men possessed. Even as the reavers slowed their advance to link up with the traitors in the arl's army, the loyalists did not intend to slow down.

"FOR THE RISEN ANDRASTE!"

"HUAAAGH!"

Collin nudged his Grey Warden companion and gestured towards the arl. "This battle is lost before it had begun. There is no salvaging this loss. We must reach the arl and his knights and begin an orderly retreat. It is all we can do to preserve some lives on this disastrous morning."

The small band rapidly linked up with the escorting knights and the fuming arl. Saramond looked like he wanted to ride towards the enemy and confront the witch himself, but his more sensible knights had taken charge of his reins and led him back down the path.

"Your Grace!" Collin called as he came into range. "We must abandon this site before we are caught by their outriders. Their cavalry, though probably numbering in the tens, will still be able to slow us down for their footsoldiers to catch up. There is nothing more you can do here."

"You.. you traitor! All of you, traitors! I will _not_ run away with my tail between my legs like some Orlesian bitch! That blasted sorceress must pay for the affront she has visited upon me. Nothing less than her death will redeem me in Loghain's rotten eyes."

The crazed commander drew his sword at that moment, forcing the knights to back off and release the reins to his horse. The arl then snapped his destrier into a canter, then a gallop, right back into the mouth of hell where the enemy rebels and traitors were relishing their victory.

Some of the knights seem to be hesitating and considered following their liegelord, but Duncan moved his horse to block their vision to the rabit arl. "The man is lost. Do not abandon your duty to the kingdom by throwing your lives away."

"The Grey Warden is right." A senior white-bearded fellow said. "We should ride back to the war camp and provide leadership to the common soldiers who survived. The enemy will be marching in pursuit of us, so we should prepare the men for a retreat and burn down all the supplies that we can't bring with us. The enemy is hungering for provisions to feed their growing population – we must deny them that victory at least."

"Let's go!"

The band of knights, templars along with a single Grey Warden rode down a much narrower side path along cliffs and other winding paths downwards. The main road was wider but it took longer to reach the war camp through that route. A few of the rebel archers and mages had tried to pick them off while they were still in sight, but they were apt in dodging the incoming dangers. When they were finally out of sight from the small plains, the men finally relaxed a tiny bit. Their lives would be safe for now. There would be no more surprises.

Duncan was nothing if not saddened by this turn of events. The sheer sensation of powerlessness as he watched the slaughter unfold had nagged at his mind. How could a single incident of heresy have escalated into a full-blown rebellion? Hundreds, maybe a thousand competent soldiers had just died. The remainder who were left alive were most likely enchanted against their will to serve the dragon-witch and her nefarious whims. Precious manpower in the fight against the darkspawn were wasted in a senseless conflict that could have been solved with some negotiation. All of it was a tragic waste. If only the Chantry was a little bit more flexible concerning apostates.

The Warden-Commander himself had never feared mages, regardless of their intentions. The fear and distrust to those who have been entrusted with the gift of magic by the Maker seemed to be counter-productive in his eyes. Why make these powerful but malleable individuals hate themselves and the society that has cast them out? It was a good recipe to push desperate individuals into radical measures. Some of them may have truly been corrupted by demons, but most apostates were actually quite decent people, if a bit stunted in their growth. His own ranks of Grey Wardens numbered numerous mages, almost all of them grateful that they were given sanctuary and were not even bothered by the duties that service in the Grey Wardens actually entailed.

The proof that substantiated his opinion was the remarkable change in response by commoners and nobles alike. Those who have identified themselves as Circle mages were looked at with fear and distrust. A templar escort simply meant the Chantry thought that the mage was too dangerous to be let out alone. However, if a Grey Warden just happened to be a mage, that person would be treated just as any other Warden, which was usually respect. It was as if the risks of demon possession did not exist at all – which was not true at all as he had seen several fellow Wardens succumb to the seduction. That hypocritical attitude by the people in Ferelden towards mages had slowly but surely pushed Duncan away from the literal truth of the Chantry.

'_The Maker… he may yet exist, but it was Andraste who laid down most of the foundations of the Chantry.'_

The Grey Warden briefly considered whether there was some truth to the sorceress' claims of being a reincarnated version of Andraste. It was still unlikely, to be sure, but perhaps their personalities held more similarities than one would ordinarily think.

'_Power-hungry, mad, determined,…'_

"Hold up." Templar-Commander Collin ordered as he reined in his horse. The others followed suit, including Duncan. The older man inspected the cliff side to the left of their path with a critical eye. "I'm sensing something.."

And before anyone could look around, Collin threw himself off his horse and narrowly dodged a small avalanche. The two other knights riding besides him weren't as lucky however and were crushed to death.

"It's an ambush! To arms!"

More boulders fell or rolled down the cliff, crushing knights who were slow to direct their horses to back up and didn't have the sense to dismount. One templar riding ahead of Duncan was hit by a chest-sized rock which flung him away from his saddle. The unfortunate holy warrior fell to his death down the cliffs to their right.

Duncan hadn't bothered to navigate through the small path with his restless and panicking horse. A fine breed and a gift from the king, the always practical Grey Warden had no qualms of leaving the noble beast to its death as he jumped from his mount. Clearing the area where most rocks had fallen, Duncan unsheathed his twin blades and tried to ready himself for the next wave of attacks. The surviving knights were not much in a good shape and were slightly slower in drawing their blades. Only the Grey Warden's calm expression and confident stance rallied them into a semblance of fighting order.

Collin joined his comrade with his warhammer at the ready. "It looks like this is the end of the road for us. Our way further on is blocked and the way back only leads us to the jaws of the enemy."

"It seems so."

"I apologize for involving you in this disaster. The king will be without your guidance as he will fight the darkspawn to the south."

The Warden only shrugged nonchalantly. "My end has been fast approaching these last few years. I have prepared my Grey Wardens in accordance. The organization is in good hands of my prime lieutenant."

The sound of hoof beats steadily approached their position. They held their arms a little tighter and closed ranks in order to form a wall against any oncoming cavalry charges.

Six mounted warriors rode into view. All of them were typical of the unusually well-equipped rebel army. Their heavy plate-and-mail armor gleamed dully in faded red, and Duncan had the slightest suspicion it was all made of dragonbone. If that were to be true, then they would be more than a match to a few demoralized knights. Collin and his other two surviving templars were the more level-headed and experienced from the twelve he started with, so they would give more of a challenge. As for Duncan himself, well if he could handle the witch-leader in equal terms, then one of her subordinates would not prove too hard. He readied his twin blades and carefully paced forward.

Only for a series of arrows to dig themselves into the soil just before him. He raised his view and could just see a couple of silhouettes. _'Of course, the rebels who have rolled over the stones are still present. Looks like we are outnumbered after all.'_

"Archers above, riders ahead, and limited maneuvering space. The odds do not favor us at all." Collin mumbled. "But I will not abandon my mission and my faith in the Maker and her bride."

One of the cavalrymen strode forward a few paces. The bearded man had an unusually unwieldy battleaxe strapped to his back. _'Not a rider by training then.'_

"I would reconsider resistance at this point." The bearded man began as he looked down at the ragged band of survivors. "My lady, the Risen Andraste, desires all who lay down their arms and surrender unconditionally be taken prisoner alive and unharmed. Furthermore, she has made an express desire for all of those who are of noble blood, hold elevated military ranks or possess rare powers to come before her. Especially you," The rebel pointed at Duncan. "The one who managed to draw blood from my lady."

The templars seemed hardened to fight to the death, but the knights were less certain. One of them asked, "We'll stay alive, right? We shan't be tortured or the like?"

"I personally guarantee you will not come to harm under our care. Our lady has no interest in pointless cruelty and deaths. Enough lives have been spilled this day."

"Do not let yourself be deceived by this lying heretic!" Collin interjected, almost drawing his weapon towards the cowed knights. "You are the vassals of the king! You are the servants of the Maker! Know your duty and resist this heresy!"

A short tense stalemate followed. The rebels had the Fereldens pinned down. The knights looked like they desperately wanted to surrender but Collin was doing a good job of intimidating them in refraining to do so. The bearded rebel leader seemed content sit and wait, confident that no matter what will happen, his forces will win in the end.

Unwilling to wait any longer but also be forced into whatever course of action the knights would eventually make, Duncan stepped forward and made his own decision.

_Clang! Clatter!_

"I'm sorry Collin, but blind faith has led us into the wretched position we are in at this moment. It is time we set aside our weapons and rely on words to settle our differences."

"Well spoken, great warrior." The rebel leader nodded approvingly. "I see that you are a man of honor but also a man of common sense."

With Duncan's surprising initiative, the knights eagerly dropped their swords and shields and ran into the protective custody of the rebel cavalry before the templars could retaliate.

Collin gripped his warhammer tightly as he glared with unrestrained rage at his former comrade. "Duncan.. how dare you. Of all the cowards idiots in our army, _you_ decide to derelict your duty to the Maker and the kingdom. I expected more from you, you craven little rat."

"I've already told you, my loyalty lies not with Ferelden, but all of Thedas. We Grey Wardens do not involve ourselves in internal or international affairs. My involvement here in this local matter has been a mistake from the start and I intend to correct that."

Instead of answering immediately, the templar leaned the head of his hammer against the ground. He calmly removed one of his gauntlets and threw the heavy arm piece before the feet of Duncan. "You have offended me greatly, Warden, more than you will ever know. I challenge you to a knightly duel, right here, right now. To the death."

The old warrior eyed the gauntlet carefully but did not move to pick it up. "I am not a knight – neither by birth, nor bestowed. Your challenge means nothing to me."

"COWARD! Then I will cut you down where you stand!" Collin erupted as he picked up his hammer and made a running strike.

Duncan managed to dodge backwards easily enough, leaving the templar swinging wide. Not soon after a hail of arrows rained down on the templar's armored form. Ignoring the danger from above, Collin continued his suicide run, his hammer ready to crush Duncan's head. Retrieving a spare knife, he started to prepare himself for a counter-attack, but was beaten by the horses that rode past him in a swift pace.

The horsemen overtook the three templars. Blinded by rage and an incessant desire to kill Duncan, Collin reacted far too late to save his head from being torn from his torso by a massive battleaxe. The other two remaining templars who were trying to cover themselves against the continuous stream of arrows were quickly cut down as well. All that remained were a handful of unarmed knights and Duncan himself. The rebel leader calmly wiped the blood off his axe before strapping it on his back.

"Now that the pleasantries are over, please let me escort you fine gentlemen to the presence of our liege."

* * *

Jack lounged tiredly in her throne room, already threatening to fall asleep despite the noon sky. Before her, Father Eirik was leading the induction ceremony, swearing in the newly converted soldiers to her cause. They all did so unquestioningly, and to make sure any fakers were weeded out they were handed a glass of wine filled with a drop of her tainted blood. It was a good way to ensure absolute loyalty, since she wasn't sure herself whether her previous gamble had worked out completely. From the faint pricks of ecstasy that waved over her during the drinking ceremony, her suspicions were confirmed.

She still couldn't quite believe her crazy idea had actually worked out. It was only possible due to the war camp's strategic position downhill. When she spotted the glaring vulnerability, she couldn't help but laugh at Arl Saramond's stupidity before she realized that he just didn't know any better.

The Frostback Mountains was a large chain of rugged mountaintops that stretched from south to north, delineating Ferelden from Orlais. Many of those peaks were snowcapped all year round. In the spring, those caps melted rapidly into water and flowed down the many tributaries that would eventually stream into Lake Calenhad or the marshes of the Korcari Wilds. Those streams were still flowing in the late summer in a diminished size. Clean, fresh river water was irresistible to any dumb peasant living in medieval times. Positioning his camp in a defensible position along one of those streams was a logical decision.

But not in this case, however. It was a bit difficult for her scouts to escort her through the tunnels and reach the correct position. The enemy was not _that _stupid to pick a stream directly downriver of their enemies. Most the maze of tunnels inside the mountain had been sealed off by cave-ins. Precious magic had to be utilized to clear a path. Their route eventually ended at the other side of the mountain where the tributary that fed the war camp originated.

There, she made one of the hardest and most pivotal decisions concerning the upcoming battle. She took her dagger, and cut a long stretch of her wrist. She held the open wound over the tiny stream and let the droplets of blood trickle out. For two hours she had let her blood leak out, hoping that the servants in the camp would be filling their pitchers with fresh stream water to serve to the soldiers. Jack had after all timed her bloodletting to the approximate time when people usually had dinner.

Still, the gamble was a very risky move on her part. Though there was little pain, her strength continually left her body. Her escorts had brought a pack of valuable healing poultices for her to consume, but they only worked so far. Precious lifeblood dripped from her wrist, and with it her biotic strength and other energies that she had come to rely on these past weeks. If this trick didn't work out, then she would be attending the oncoming battle as a spectator. No more strength would be left in her to perform any widespread biotic powers.

The effectiveness of her action would still be in question until the actual battle would start. No one, not the least Jack herself, had any idea what the minimum concentration of blood to water was necessary to actually affect people who drank it. The minor trickle she was dumping her blood in would merge with other threads to become a larger stream. That stream would then merge with another one before it finally reached the enemy camp. By then, her blood particles would have been so spread out that there could hardly be any talk of taint.

Yet it worked. When she went atop the walls the next day, still exhausted and drowsy, and saw the approaching mass of Fereldens, she felt terrible fear grip her heart. The army was still more than a match to their feeble defenders. Strong and fit men and women held their sturdy ladders with a definite purpose. Volleys of lethal arrows clattered against the arcane shields holding overhead, just waiting to break through and slice all who huddled beneath.

Yet it worked.

Requiring only a small signal to put the traitors into action, her men amongst the Fereldens turned on their brethren like locusts. Jack herself was astounded by the incredible amounts of traitors who emerged – somewhere between a quarter to a third of the enemy composition. Their sudden betrayal and madness had broken the fabric that held the army together and triggered either instant routs or hopeless fights to the deaths. Many of those who were newly loyal to the Risen Andraste had thrown their lives away in the chaotic melee, and were probably glad they had sacrificed their lives.

It was a bit perverse, to turn brother against brother and sister against sister, but this was war and Jack was nothing if not completely enmeshed in war. In any other situation those bloodthirsty men would meet her own determined men in battle where the weight in their numbers would crush the Havenite soldiers. Then they would have turned against the innocent villagers, all in the name of human purity. When an enemy was prepared to escalate their involvement to such a stake, the powerful biotic had no qualms in matching that level and even go a step beyond.

That did not meant she would show mercy. Any survivors her mounted scouts herded back to Haven's main hall would be forcibly inducted in her service. They might lose some of their will, but they would at least stay alive, alive and usable in her employ. Manpower was still a scarcity in her fief and she was eager to expand that. More routed soldiers and a host of other camp followers were doubtlessly being detained by a hundred of her reavers. Jack would have to come down to the camp later and induct those people as well and inspect the captured provisions at the same time. An army of thousands was a hungry entity – doubtless there was enough food to last the winter.

But that was not the extent of her ambitions. She had to think of the future, where visions of retaliation filled her mind. This little conflict had ceased to be confined to the village of Haven. The army of Eastfrost and all its neighboring banns was destroyed, its survivors converted unconditionally to her cause. The holdings of those banns and arldoms were ripe for the picking. And Jack would pick those fruits, pick them all before any other arl or teyrn would arrive to take her prize away from her. For while she was admittedly caught up in this whole affair, she had never forgotten her true goals. Everything else was just a means to an end.

"Milady."

Jack was taken out of her reverie by the sight of Kolgrim and a few other reavers bowing their head. Between their ranks one proud but compliant figure was standing calmly.

The crafty old bastard.

She sat more upright in her throne, fully awake and more than a little guarded. Her reaver guards noted her alertness and held their sheathed blades with extra preparedness.

"You, what's your name."

"Duncan."

"…That's all? No fancy knightly titles or any shit like that?"

"Well, my complete title would be Warden-Commander Duncan of the Ferelden Grey Wardens."

'_Grey Warden? So this is a motherfucking Grey Warden?'_

"Holy shit."

Kolgrim rapidly ascended the dais and leaned his head to whisper in her ear. "It appears we are speaking to the leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. He is an extremely dangerous and powerful individual. I urge you, milady, you must not antagonize him in any way, for every Grey Warden is almost an equal match to his impressive skill in battle. His death would certainly rile up many scores of them into seeking vengeance upon you. I beg of you, your holiness, to stay your wrath and show him mercy."

"Yeah yeah." Jack brushed Kolgrim off once she was over the shock. Turning back to Duncan, she asked, "So what is an important bobo like you doing in the ass-end of nowhere?"

Momentarily surprised by the crude language, he nevertheless considered his words carefully. "I was called to assist in order to ascertain the influence of darkspawn in your.. revolt. The taint is extremely potent and corrupting. If there was any question of darkspawn involvement, I would have to deal with it before it spread."

"So.. how did you go from 'ascertain the influence of darkspawn' to 'fucking trying to kill me'?"

"I… I have my reasons. I would have tried to visit you, but you attacked the arl's camp in the night I had arrived. Approaching you seemed.. the best method of detecting the hand of darkspawn in your actions. I could not detect anything, for which I was relieved."

Jack considered the words, trying to gauge the old man's intent. The trouble with these old bastards was that there were always good reasons why they have managed to stay alive for so long.

"Fine. Suppose you've taken a look around our village and see that we're not a bunch of ravening darkspawn. Will you go on your way and leave your Grey Warden crap out of our backyard?"

"Why of course, milady." Duncan bowed elaborately, sweeping his arms in a courtly gesture. "I will do even more than that, with your permission that is. You may not be aware, but several in the arl's army can attest to the fact that I have King Cailan's ears. If you so desire, I can act as an intermediary between the two of you to broker an agreement."

Eyebrows raised, Jack looked questioningly at Kolgrim, then back at Duncan. "Why would I do that? And what's in it for you?"

"Well, as you may have heard or not heard, the darkspawn are gathering in distressing numbers for the past months in the Korcari Wilds. The King has assembled most of his armies and the assistance of the Grey Wardens to confront the credible darkspawn threat. I fear that this campaign will extend much farther beyond a few inconclusive skirmishes. Ferelden must be prepared for war and be unified in its efforts to drive back the darkspawn back to the Deep Roads. If I can persuade the king to spare your life and legitimize your rule, then it would benefit the citizens of Ferelden and of Thedas greatly."

"Hm… so the darkspawn threat in the Wilds is great enough to leave us alone, is that it?"

"With the right concessions, of course. Doubtless you will consolidate your hold on the arldom of Eastfrost and all the banns and homestead that territory covers."

"I have been thinking about doing that, yes." Jack admitted, although more curious to what Duncan was about to suggest.

"Then perhaps in a show of good will, you may be willing to part with a significant amount of men to bolster the king's army. By showing your army's strength while at the same time be willing to submit to his rightful rule, you will come out as a strong but proper ruler. This will allow me to convince the king that your rebellion was not so much brought out of heresy or a desire to usurp his authority. Rather, I can conveniently spin a tale about how the Arl Saramond may have been less than loyal and competent than the king has assumed and that you were merely rising up against his tyranny."

"You would lie to the king just to save our skins?"

"If it avoids further bloodshed and division, then yes I would gladly do so." Duncan answered firmly. "Will you consider my proposition? It is considerably more attractive than the alternative of fighting against the entire Ferelden state."

Jack sincerely considered Duncan's suggestion. It seemed to be a good deal, all things considered. The king and his advisors might object to her taking the entire arldom, but it wasn't as if she really needed all that territory and the demands that would follow from that. Administrating an entire province of unruly farmers and city dwellers was not really her ambition. That, and trying to induct them all in her blood would be an enormous undertaking. With all the blood that had been drained from her today, she wasn't sure she could take any more of that drain.

Raising herself from her throne, she picked up the hems of her unwieldy red robe and sauntered down the carpeted steps. Duncan knelt before her, his head bent down to the floor and his chin brushing against his chestplate. Having this tanned and black-haired figure prostate before her was immensely satisfying. The Warden-Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens was bowing to _her_, a former test subject, merc, criminal, convict and now a ruler of a fanatic cult of religious nuts. Duncan submitted to her presence and acknowledged her strength.

How could she not reciprocate?

She smiled. "I accept." Then grasped the longsword of her reaver guard and swung the blade cleanly through the unaware prisoner's neck. A black hairy mass dropped squelching against the cold stone floor. "Your head that is."

Passing the bloodied sword casually back to the bewildered reaver, she turned back to the raised platform and dropped like a sack of potatoes against her cushioned throne. Her face held an amusing expression as her entourage of reavers and other attendants simply kept staring at Duncan's separated flesh.

"Your Holiness.." Kolgrim began delicately as he tried to wipe the sweat off his forehead. "Slaying a renowned and respected Grey Warden such as he will not endear yourself to the king nor the Grey Wardens. The latter group will surely organize themselves to hunt you down when they catch wind of this event."

Taking a deep breath, Jack let her breath squeeze out between her teeth. "Kolgrim, I don't give a shit. Let these dumbass wardens try to take my life. I know shifty old bastards like this Duncan here. I knew one myself back in my world. Zaeed Massani was his name. Real shifty bastard. Did you know he survived a shot in the head? You should have seen the look on his face when he landed on his betrayer's planet and began to wreck the entire facility into ruin. Old bastards like Zaeed and Duncan won't let a slight go unpunished. The Grey Warden would have found some way to screw me over royally when he didn't need my help any longer."

"That does not mean the Warden-Commander would find it prudent to rid the kingdom of your presence. There are many practical reasons why you would have been more useful alive than dead."

"You don't know anything." Jack spat back, eyes full of acid as she looked back in her memories. "And there's more to this old bastard than you see. You know, I knew another fellow back in my old life. A real charmer, he was, who goes by the name of Shepard. He was a Spectre, a sort of Grey Warden with the awesome reputation and all. He had the smoothest tongue of any species that could walk on two legs. He could convince lifelong enemies to lay down their arms and hug each other like they were family. He could convince a race of robot-hating idiots to allow an AI to enter their ships. He… he even managed to convince me he was sincere to me.."

The biotic shook her head, trying to rid herself of that vision. "Anyway, real charmers like him are more treacherous than any primitive barbarian who makes his hatred towards me plainly. When I looked at Duncan, hear his oh-so-logical suggestions and great ideas, I could only see the Zaeed and Shepard within in. If he admits he would lie to the king to change the circumstances in his favor, he would have surely been capable of lying to us just to save his skin. I knew that if I let this shifty smooth bastard walk out alive, he would find a way to screw me over in the end. Because that's what everyone eventually does to me, stab me in my back."

"Then why not simply let him partake in your blood?" Kolgrim asked carefully. "You would be able to use his considerable talents to your own ends. Having the Grey Wardens at your disposal is a powerful tool."

"No, absolutely not. People like Shepard and Zaeed are tough as nails. This Duncan fellow seemed like a strong enough fellow to ignore my influence. Maybe he could try to convince himself that the best way of serving me would be to draw most of my armies to the Wilds, leaving me with only limited defenses against any surprise attack by mercenaries or other available forces. Better to cut off this kind of betrayal while you can before he could spring the trap."

"…If you say so, milady."

"Now, let's prepare to take over the camp. I want you to get all the converted soldiers into travelling shape, since I'll want to capture Saramond's crib before some other noble reinforces it. With his castle in our hands, the surrounding lands would be ripe for the picking. Also, please tell Father Eirik to fetch a map of the Deep Roads if he has one."

"I will do as you ask.. but may I ask, why the map?"

"You may." She responded. Jack supposed many of her reasons were strange or alien to these primitive bastards. That was her strength, to think differently and to see opportunities where others could not out of their own prejudice and ignorance. "There's a saying in my old world: The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

* * *

**End Notes: **This chapter is my response to all those who have been hoping that Jack would somehow help the Grey Wardens or become one herself. If you really want to read that kind of story, then you can browse the several other hundreds of Dragon Age fanfics available on this site.


	6. Fuck the Chantry

November 8, 2010  
Revised: August 3, 2011  
By RahXephon [847246]

**Author's Notes:** Another update. Slow going.

* * *

_**Dragon Age: Jack Effect**_

_Fuck the Chantry_

* * *

Jack was having the time of her life. Her army had more than doubled its ranks, tripled even after her forces took control of the former Arl's war camp. The supplies and other materiel that had been captured over there, along with the equipment scavenged from the dead bolstered her army's supply and wealth. The vast grain reserves alone would have been good enough to feed the booming village of Haven.

Some of the banns have also been rather lavish in bringing their luxuries with them on campaign. Aside from the assorted jewelry, magical equipment and other goodies, they brought valuable intelligence in the form of letters and administrative forms such as tax revenues. With this information she was a lot more up to date on current events in the arldom and the rest of the kingdom. Things didn't look as good as everyone tried to convince themselves. With even heavier defenses under construction in Haven, she was as safe as she could be. Her little kingdom was getting more and more fortified from the outside world. If she could, she and the rest of her merry band of minions could hold up in this highly defensible location and watch the world go by without their influence.

But that was not her ambition anymore. Or had it even been that modest in the first place? She wasn't really someone who would ever reflect on her past decisions, but her past decisions have been so hectic that she couldn't avoid it. Was she actually trying to stir up trouble, or was it simply her unlucky nature? There were several instances where she could have decided to act less rashly and avoid unnecessary risks. Be wimpy and nice like Jacob Taylor, who would always take the safe option and compromise whenever possible. It was the rational option.

But that wasn't what she was. She was Jack, the meanest and toughest bitch in the entire galaxy. Even krogans cowered before her might. What did she have to fear from a bunch of iron age barbarians who had never even heard of guns and space travel. She wouldn't take shit from anyone, no matter how large their armies were or how big they pretended their dicks would be. If they so much as eyed her up, she would cut down both their armies and their cocks. Because she was different. Because she was Jack. The entire universe had ganged up on her to make her life as miserable as possible since her very birth. This was payback time, starting with Ferelden. She would do her best to gather enough strength and crush all opposition. Not for glory. Not for riches. Not even for some half-assed ideal of restoring justice or bringing enlightenment to these dumb fucks. Heck she didn't care for such sappy shit.

What she wanted was power. Power and strength. Her very first lesson when she was thrown in the arena and be forced to kill another kid was that the strong always won. She won her battles because she was _made_ to be strong. The Cerberus operatives who kept her and the other lab rats in their cells were even stronger. It was only when the scientists made her _too_ strong that she was able to defy her captors and have her revenge. In every other instance, strength was what kept her alive. It had become the reason for her existence. Biotics were just one aspect of her strength. That asari matron who was Liara's mother was practically just as strong, but Shepard killed that old bitch in the end because she did things the sluggish asari way. Jack wouldn't let herself be bitch smacked like that old hag. No one would control her mind or force her decisions. She would be the one doing the controlling this time. The day she absorbed both the High Dragon's blood and Andraste's ashes was the day she was reborn.

Subject Zero was merely a tool. Jack was just an outlaw. But the Risen Andraste was a conqueror.

And so she would have the means to escape this pitiful world and return to the realm where mass effect reigned supreme. There, she would bring her army with her in order to create a powerbase strong enough to corner Shepard and defeat him. Only with the might and resources equal to Cerberus could she eliminate Shepard's supporters. They would fall one by one until only the Shep stood alone, deprived even of that slutty engineered bitch Miranda. And when that scumbag cheater is finally without friends to call in favors, she would rip the double timer apart in ways she would never wish to the Reapers.

Things wouldn't be that simple, however. Jack knew that being a powerful public figure was a double-edged sword. Not only could she get too caught up with the demands of ruling a burgeoning empire, it was that people like Spectres and Grey Wardens were made to defeat conquerors. Spectres were the best of the best, suited to a wide variety of tasks, notwithstanding assassination. The Grey Wardens similarly employed a wide variety of talents, all having the common purpose of destroying the Archdemons that led the Blights. The powerful biotic had experienced firsthand the brutal efficiency of Shepard and the renowned fighting skill of Duncan.

Furthermore, a conqueror wasn't the same as being a ruler. Not everyone was as enthusiastic of being turned into a blindly devoted cultist. With the mass of soldiers having escaped the clutches of Haven's admittedly underwhelming cavalry, wild rumors had rapidly spread throughout Ferelden about the nefarious powers of the so-called Risen Andraste.

"Ware the false prophetess, the one they call the Risen Andraste. Ware her blue violent magics, for even the templars cannot tame that terrible power, only unleash an even more vicious red demon. Above all, ware her very presence, for it is tainted with sorceries more foul than any darkspawn's essence. Fear the Blue Queen, for she will consume your very will."

Well, not all who fled were as eloquent as that particular knight, but it was pretty obvious that those who survived blamed her earlier biotic signal as the source of the madness. They were not far from the truth. She had no doubt word of her would spread to the outlying banns by tomorrow and make it to Ostagar by the end of the week. That meant that the cat was essentially out of the bag. Future enemies would approach her more cautiously, leaving her with little openings to slip her blood in their supplies.

That wasn't her immediate worry though.

Her problems already began when she descended to the Arl's former war camp the following day to receive a report about the prisoners and supplies. Most of the routed men who could have been captured on foot had been herded back to this makeshift prison to await their fate.

The simple sight of the wretched soldiers halted some of Jack's more delusional fantasies of conquering the entire world. They were mud-stained, dirty and utterly defeated. Many women and more than a few men had looked like they had been crying for some time. Others limped along with heavy wounds or even amputated limbs. The whole sight was more ugly than the slums of Earth. Suddenly she wasn't so sure of her conviction right then. These weren't the menacing enemy that wanted to destroy her. They were humans now, men and women who were just doing their job and following their orders.

It did not help that their guards were not the menacing red armored reavers but rather their converted former comrades. The sight had a profound effect on the already broken men. The converted wore familiar faces, retained their memories and still even cracked the same jokes – they just couldn't accept that the Risen Andraste was false. And it was because of that fact alone that the converted were willing to kill any unconverted prisoners, even if they were childhood friends or cousins. This new reality, this sudden change in loyalty, it was all too much for more than a handful.

When she was brought to the camp in a carriage, she was confronted with her first profound decision as a victorious military leader.

"What to do with these defeated men?"

Kolgrim, as loyal and dependable and knowledgeable as he was in military affairs, had no room for any mercy. "They are a liability in their current state. We must either enlighten their poor unfortunate souls, or crush the life out of their undeserving shells. Since taking over the castle standing over Sturnberg will require the sacrifice of hundreds even when it is undermanned, it would be prudent to acquire fodder to achieve that bloody price. Without control of that castle, we cannot take effective possession of the city and its valuable resources."

Surprisingly, for all her lust for killing and slaughter, she felt surprisingly… empty, when she heard the news. Something was holding her back from making a decision. What was it? Surely she wasn't growing soft on these little fucks. Still… why couldn't she make the decision to take their lives or bring them to her unyielding service? Why did she not feel the bloodlust of victory coursing through her head? She had thought there wasn't much left to do after winning a battle, but now that she was here, she wasn't so sure. There was just something about these soldiers, these people, who despite their earlier attempts to kill her disciples and herself, just seemed to be rather innocent.

What a strange word to apply to a soldier. Innocent. Unless they were drafted, and she didn't think they were, these soldiers willfully offered their bodies as vessels of death. Anywhere they were sent, blood would be spilled on their hands. They might believe they were fighting for a cause, or protect their loved ones back in their homes, it did not change that they were still exploited to cause other people's deaths. To view all these trained killers as just an instrument to whoever gave them orders was retarded. Thane, for all his sanctimonious speeches about being a tool and all, was still a brutally effective assassin.

Was assassination and other crimes comparable to regular soldiering? Jack had no qualms about killing mercenaries or Cerberus personnel. But that might be because they chose a life of crime. Death was not just part of the business, it was what those thugs deserved.

As hard as she tried to convince herself, she couldn't see these defeated Ferelden soldiers in the same way. They didn't hesitate on exterminating an entire village, but they had valid reasons, if you could call heresy and rebellion as that. They fought against what they believed were genuine threats to their lands and people, and Jack couldn't help but respect that determination. These men didn't deserve to be killed out of hand. They also didn't deserve the cruel fate of losing their will to choose their own loyalties, only to throw their lives in an attempt to assault a heavily fortified castle. Killing enemies in the heat of battle was one thing. Murdering surrendering soldiers in cold blood was another thing entirely.

If there was one thing Jack absolutely wanted to avoid, it was becoming as ruthless and vicious as Cerberus. However much she wanted to shout out against the world, she did not want others to suffer the same fate as hers. Using her contaminated blood might be justified when her life was on the line, but now that the situation had changed, she was not so sure that might be true anymore. The Illusive Man thought that everything that wasn't human was a threat to humanity, and went to extreme lengths in order to avoid such an unlikely occurrence.

These soldiers were different from the original dragon cultists, who had essentially already chosen their loyalties. Only the disciples' children still retained their innocence, and she had all but strongly proclaimed that the children were to be kept from anything that bore her taint. Just thinking about converting that little girl Aliana becoming a mindslave brought unpleasant memories of her own torture at the hands of Cerberus. As willing as the children seemed to start with their 'growing up ceremonies', Jack did not wish for any child to be forced into a life of violence and persecution.

The Ferelden soldiers weren't children, of course. They were adults, and had made their own conscious choices on what career they would pursue.

"What alternatives do we have to killing or converting them?"

Her advisor grimaced, not liking the way his leader was moving towards. "We can set the prisoners free, but that will bring nothing but chaos. If they do not manage to organize themselves then they might disperse into small groups and will roam the entire countryside. Some will just return to the villages or farms whence they came from. Others will desert and turn to brigandy. If they do however manage to stay cohesive, then they will likely return to Sturnberg where they will form the nucleus of a larger army that will return to sweep back our lands."

"So it is either kill them outright, turn them into slaves or release them in the wild where they will haunt us for months."

"Indeed that is so. Milady, as your trusted servant, I urge you to consider our perilous situation. Despite our successes, we are still but a small army based from a single village that has grown too large to sustain itself. With the incredible victory you have secured against overwhelming odds, word will be spread on the method you have acquired this victory. The rest of Ferelden cannot afford to ignore you any longer and treat your threat as a provincial matter. If we wish to stand any chance of repelling their collective might, we must make a start on occupying the Arl's former territory and assets. We must not only seize the loyalties of these surviving soldiers, but also the entire population of Sturnberg and its outlying territories. Only complete domination will allow you to mobilize enough defenses to withstand a major army."

The information wasn't new, but it was only up to now that it became relevant. A game of chess couldn't be won with a single queen, however powerful she was. Against an army of pawns, knights and mages, she needed her own set of pawns to absorb their overwhelming attacks. It all came to size.

This wasn't how she imagined it would be. This wasn't how she could run a nascent empire. Even with the arl and his armies defeated, formidable militias remained to reinforce several castles and village walls around the lands. The manpower needed to deal with the recalcitrant Fereldens would be great, but the process would also cost a lot of lives. The amount of blood required to convert the vast and rugged expanse of Eastfrost was impossibly large. Coverage would be incomplete, as there would always be some individuals who will manage to dodge any taint and try to fake loyal behavior. Those who remain full in mind will see their friends and families corrupted to an outside influence, and would bear unrestrained hatred towards her cultists and herself. She had plenty of experience being an oppressed underdog to realize the massive guerilla war she would unleash if she would move to take the vulnerable territories by blood. She knew very well how King Maric and his trusted lackey Loghain had risen up from such rebellion to overthrow the Orlesians and their puppets. But the alternative to conversion, killing, was not quite feasible either, since that would unite her enemies even faster.

No, as much as she needed it, force just wouldn't cut it. What she needed was another strategy.

"Kolgrim.. I need to think on this topic a little bit further. Keep these men prisoner for now. Please instruct the men not to mistreat them and keep them adequately fed. No taint, understand?"

"As you wish." Her servant said, with more than a hint of restrained frustration. "I hope you will not regret your ultimate decision."

There seemed to be limits to even her most devoted follower's loyalty.

* * *

Jack had never figured herself to be a bookworm. Just being in a library, surrounded by dusty hardbound volumes comprising of topics as dry as 'The Balance of Accounts of the Territory of Haven, volume 4' felt wrong to her. Still, it was the only place where she wouldn't be surrounded by hopeful looking cultists who were all awaiting the next step in her quest to spread her chant to the ignorant outside world. It was a place to avoid Kolgrim as he immersed himself with his tasks of managing his expanded army. The man was still awaiting an answer of what to do with the prisoners. Daily he reminded her of the vast quantities of food they were consuming, and that if they wouldn't be put to use soon, it would be better to dispose of the useless prisoners outright so they could save a few cartloads of grain.

Equating human lives to the amount of grain they consumed was not the most subtle argument. It was quite effective, however, and Jack genuinely tried to seek a solution. She was well aware that time was also a powerful pressure. Every day that had passed was another day that increasingly more outlying territories would be notified about her victory. Eventually, word would reach Ostagar, to which a reprisal would result if the darkspawn weren't too pressing of a threat. Also, by hesitating in taking over the arldom and the banns, Jack was giving them more time to fortify themselves with militias. The opportunity to take possession of the vulnerable outlying lands increasingly grew smaller.

Instead of acting on those pressing issues, Jack read books instead. She read more on history, particularly about invasions and conquests. The Exalted Marches in particular was a great wealth of information.

She read on how the original Andraste fought against the might of the much larger Tevinter Imperium during the First Blight, only to fall into treachery by her husband Maferath. Somehow though, Archon Hesserian converted to the Chantry upon Andraste's burning, granting her the mercy of the sword and slowly bringing his entire nation into the light.

Then she then read about the struggles by the Orlesians to repel the aggressive Dales. Who was at fault was a bit muddy, but it didn't matter. When the Orlesians were threatened to be engulfed by the elves, the other human nations rushed to rescue their fellow humans. Jack realized that the idea of equality of races didn't exist on this world, not to the extent it was in Citadel space.

The next four Exalted Marches were against the Tevinter Imperium and its own heretical appointment of a Black Divine in the Imperial Chantry. The Divine in Val Royeaux did not take pleasure from that, and the heavy crusades she proclaimed made deep inroads in the Imperium, but always fell a little short of taking the capital. The Imperial Chantry's increasingly more liberal rules concerning mages had actually chased away the mages from the south to the safety of the north, and it was with that magical edge that the Tevinter Imperium held on. It stood diminished, but firm, and the outbreak of the Fourth Blight proved to be a fortunate coincidence.

But the most important conflict in the book was about the Qunari. Coming from some island chains to the north of the Imperium, these Turian-Krogan like species had swept much of Rivain, Antiva and the Tevinter Imperium with their fierce lust for battle and surprising use of cannons. Only with the might of the entire nations of Thedas channeled through three Exalted Marches did they finally pushed the Qunari back. That, combined with their inexperience in using magic, more than negated their advantage in gunpowder weaponry.

The most fascinating aspect about the Qunari conquest was their method of occupation. Believing in some dopey philosophy called the Qun, they forced the captured humans to convert or be used as slave labor. With those two options, it was not surprising the humans under the occupied lands chose to give the new religion a try. With some aggressive teaching and the harsh culling of whoever failed to follow the tenets of the Qun, the humans who remained were treated surprisingly well, having accepted their roles in society. Even the New Exalted Marches that have been brought forth to liberate the lands had to fight against the fanatic human followers of the Qun, often massacring entire villages and towns to prevent further resistance.

That level of devotion was something she needed herself to keep control over her conquered lands. Forceful conversion was only a method of last resort, and the more she used it, the more other humans would know and unite to march against her. Having read the resilience of Thedas against common enemies, the last thing she needed was for Orlais and other nations to gather against her. If she was going against the might of the Fereldens, then she would need to prove that she was no threat to the lands beyond. Diversions such as a new Blight could also be used as a cover to let her continue uninterrupted.

Plans formed in her mind. With delusions the dragon cultists held about her being the next Andraste and the power she possessed as a biotic, voluntary domination might just be possible. The new religion she would advocate and spread would have to be related to the Chantry myths. After all, she herself claimed to be Andraste herself, so she could not discard that entire story. However, the existence of the perverted Imperial Chantry proved that citizens could be fooled into accepting such modifications. Religion was a powerful tool.

Still, she had to have the punch of the Qun. Just tinkering with the existing tenets of the Chantry was not going to be very exciting, nor comforting. It had to be something more… radical.

Turning from her book, she called for Father Eirik to join her. When the old grey-haired man finally entered, she made her decision.

"Eirik, you always wanted me to give a sermon in the Chantry, right?"

His eyes immediately turned to stars. "Why yes, milady. Are we finally worthy to learn the next verses of the Chant of Light?"

"Err.. not exactly." Jack laughed reluctantly. No way was she going to compose some lame-ass poetry. "It's not a Chant. It's something else, something new, and it will change the way you will think about the Maker."

"We.. we are honored to hear about the Maker, milady."

"I won't speak at the Church though, nor in the great hall or any other place on this village. No, gather everyone down the Arl's war camp. I want to address the prisoners as well. We will need them for the times ahead."

"Very well, milady."

Now, to design her new religion. She took a scroll, then one of those annoying feathers and began to dip it ink. She wrote her first words then, something she had done only a few times before. Her script was ugly and uneven, but she would have Eirik or some other scholar to write a more elegant version when her draft was completed.

For the rest of her day, she composed her new religion. With it, the world would be brought from its darkness and into the light. _Her_ light.

* * *

When she next strode into the war camp, she arrived with an elevated head. As her carriage strode into the camp the condition of the prisoners seemed to be a little better this time. They had probably digested their defeat and accepted whatever fate would fall upon them. Perhaps in private, they have considered living on in the service of a heretic would be a better alternative to a swift death. As much as she hated mind games, their current moods would make it easier for her to convince them of her revelations.

Practically everyone from the village was present in the camp. The huge exodus had started hours ago when laborers dropped their tools and walked down the entire slope to the base of the mountains. The news of Andraste's first religious sermon had excited them beyond their usual optimistic state. They were about to experience that which their forefathers had only hoped for in their lifelong devotion of serving the High Dragon. Now, finally, the generation that they were part of would experience a new age where the Maker's Bride would shape the very world again.

Hopes, dreams and wishes would be fulfilled from this day onwards. Not just theirs, but Jack's own desires as well. And she also knew very well that if she tried to pursue this path, other people's dreams would be crushed. If that was the price to obtain her goals, then so be it. She was through playing softball. The instant the outside world had noticed her existence, she could never crawl back in some cave and hide. People either let themselves be blinded by greed or be irrationally frightened by her powers. Trouble would find a way to screw her over. It always had. Better to start trouble than to be on the receiving end of it.

After all, trouble was her specialty.

Stepping out of her carriage, she was met by cheers. The enthusiastic villagers brought out their best rags to be present in this momentous occasion. The converted soldiers cheered as well, making a striking contrast to their unarmed and unconvinced brethren. Both the remaining Ferelden soldiers and their assortment of camp followers continued to keep a wary eye on her. The elves were especially stoic.

It was the skeptical ones that she needed the most for her plans to continue. While she could have just force-fed them her blood and used them to occupy the rest of Eastfrost, their unrecognizable ways of thinking would have just repelled the commoners. What she needed were those who were genuinely loyal to her while not becoming completely nuts. Only then could she work to integrate the lands to her personal empire successfully.

Her escort moved to surround her, wary of any assassins lurking in the crowd who would have any reason to make a play on their liege. Since Jack chose to wear a gold-studded religious robe instead of her customary armor, she was particularly vulnerable on this day. That was her intention. By appearing more impressive than she usually was and by purposely making herself into a target, she was flaunting her divinity. Andraste may have died a long time ago, but she had the power to come back from the dead. Her rise was inevitable.

She stepped on top of the podium that was hastily constructed for her address and met her councilors while leaving behind her guards. Everyone, from Liam to Janys to Eirik had been waiting for her arrival. They bowed courteously as she approached her pulpit. Her appearance unleashed more cheers from the crowd. Raising a silent palm, they eventually lost steam and silence descended on the fallen camp. Even the captured soldiers seemed to be hooked on whatever she was about to address.

Now, Jack wasn't someone who you could call gifted in public speech. She had agonized on the best way to make her case. The disciples and other converted people would eat her words like sugar, even if the only matter that spewed from her mouth was shit. However, if she somehow failed to convince the majority of the prisoners of her new idea, then she would be without adequate support for the coming months as other warlords would begin to move against her. She needed the aid of everyone here in order to gain control of the surrounding lands. Eventually, she had torn up her prepared speech and threw it in the fireplace. If she couldn't do this by heart, then she had no business leading anything.

"People of Ferelden." She began, and dutifully the spells enchanted on her neck had amplified her voice enough to reach the entire confines of the camp. "After nine centuries of absence, I've returned."

A booming cry sounded out from everyone, which was as much as she had expected. Jack waited for it to die down so she could continue. "But I came not to congratulate you but to tell you how much you've made a mess of things." Things quieted down then as her words sunk in. "Nine centuries of fucking around, and what did you guys achieve? Nothing! Oh, you spread the Chant of Light alright, but only on one measly continent! I've watched for centuries alongside the Maker only to see the Chantry split up in two, neither even following an inch of my true intentions. The Imperial Chantry is nothing but a club that the Tevinter magisters have twisted for their own ends. The Chantry of Andraste is similarly just a convenient tool to suit the Orlesians. None of you have got anything right, choosing even to discard the words of my favored followers. And what's left of the promise I gave the elves to give them their own homeland? Are you humans that ungrateful to the Maker's other children?"

The crowd was completely aghast as she continued her vitriol. "Is there no wonder why the Maker has continued to look away from his miserable failure of a creation? In nine centuries the Qunari have risen up from barbarism, built huge-ass ships to cross the oceans and have unlocked the secrets of even deadlier weapons. Compared to that, you and all the other people of Thedas have let mages or churches continue to bully you around. Of all else, you have let yourself be ruled by kings whose worthless bloodline doesn't mean anything and emperors whose only goals are to enrich themselves. You've let yourself be chained as serfs where all of you are practically nothing but slaves. Those with power only get richer, while those of you who have nothing will continue to have nothing no matter how hard you work. You may all think you are better than the elves who dwell in those shitty alienages, but you're in fact no better for letting yourselves be bound."

She then retrieved her submachine gun. The shiny weapon was still in working order if a bit scratched. Jack was relieved that the blacksmiths were able to churn out dozens of new clips that would fit snugly. Her arm extended outwards, letting the dull metal shine in her crowd's eyes. "Look at this gun! Look at it well!"

Servants stepped onto the podium then, bringing forth large fruits. They placed them on a wooden rail before retreating from the stage. Taking aim, she calmly shot every pumpkin in sequence. Letting the crowd see the glowing hot thermal clip, she shouted, "This is what is called a submachine gun! It's a weapon that can fire repeatedly and through many sorts of armor. Look at this weapon, and ask yourself, why don't I have such a kickass weapon myself?"

No one answered of course. "Because your rulers won't fucking let you! They've stood in the way of progress since the day I was burned at the stake. Let me tell you where I got this weapon from."

Jack raised a finger to the sky. Everyone looked up but saw nothing but the evening sky. "Up there, in the stars! While you have been playing back and forth with swords and arrows, other humans and yet other creations of the Maker have followed his wishes and have been granted access to the limitless space beyond the skies. While you are still limited to sailing the shallow seas, the humans who the Maker favors have hammered together gigantic metal ships that can travel from star to star. While you peasants have to labor for months to afford an occasional feast, the other species beyond this planet can buy enough food to feed a hundred mouths with just a day's earnings. Ask yourself this question: in which society would you rather live in, one where food and wealth is plentiful and where the Maker's blessing is abundant, or one where you live in awful squalor, and where the Maker has turned away from the sight of you filthy peasants in disgust?"

"If it was up to the Maker, he would have erased Thedas from its very existence and start anew." Gasps uttered from many people. Others simply continued to look ill at ease. Even some of the unconverted people seemed to believe her so far, although there were plenty who looked less than pleased. Still, it was better than she feared, and she still wasn't finished with her story. "But it was only because of me that you still live on today, for in my heart I couldn't let my own fellow brothers and sisters drown in shit. It's not the fault of common people such as you that you live in defiance of the Maker's will. The fault lies squarely on the bastards who you call your kings and queens, who away your hard-earned gold but leave almost nothing in return. It's _their_ reason that this planet has been neglected for so long, leaving it to rot under slavery and pestilence, darkspawn and Qunari heretics."

"The Maker has given Thedas a second chance. _I_ have given you a second chance. He has sent me to this world to guide you to the path of enlightenment, and to prepare you of the times when you will be tested." Jack smirked then, enjoying what she was about to say next. "The Maker cannot and will not turn towards you, his first creation, until you've proven yourself worthy to receive his favor. He, in his fervent belief that you will never be able to rise from your barbarism, has given you the challenge to remake society in his image and one day be able to join his favored creations beyond the sky. For it is then are you deemed ready to face his most favored creation, his very son in fact. This man is called the Shepard, for he is the guiding light of all the humans who come from a planet the maker has called Earth. The Earthlings, all favored with wealth and strength beyond your dreams, have given their hopes to this champion to represent humanity. So long as the Shepard lives, the Maker's light will never shine upon us. Only through his very death and return to the Maker's side will Thedas enjoy the light once again."

Sweeping her arm over the enthralled crowd, she challenged loudly, "Do you have what it takes to take up that challenge? Are you ready to change the world, throw down the corrupt and bring your family in a new age of prosperity and light?"

The rhetoric had certainly brought out hope and enthusiasm amongst the crowd. Even the camp followers seemed moved by her visions. Only the hardened soldiers remained unconvinced. It would take more to chip away their defense.

In the next hour as the sun dipped under the horizon, she talked about pretty much anything worth talking about. She gave the people descriptions of the idyllic life the Earthlings enjoyed on the garden worlds. She explained the awesome might of the Systems Alliance and what kind of weapons and defenses they enjoyed. While she didn't have proof that all these wonders existed, it did have the effect of subtly weaving doubts in some of the skeptical prisoners. One of the topics that gained the interests of even the most stubborn prisoners was her demonstration of Mass Effect, which she conveniently described as one of the Maker's favored gifts on his creations. She tried out various powers against armored dummies and magical defenses, tearing through both with savage strength.

"Don't think that I'm just doing some fancy magic. I'm not a mage. What I've just performed is what's called biotics. Only those who carry out these powers carry the Maker's favor. Why else does someone like me possess such strength? Only the Maker's Bride and a handful of his chosen have the privilege to control the powers of gravity. Maybe if you people get your shit into gear you can actually get to the point where you can enjoy these powers yourself. And the greatest aspect of this power is that the Fade has got nothing to do with it. Unlike with magic, you won't become a beacon for demon possession. That's part of the Maker's blessing."

Jack continued to spin tales of bullshit, and most ate it like it was cake. Soon enough though she was running out of fresh ideas, so she turned to her final point. "I can't do this all alone. Despite all my powers, I need you to spread the word. We have many enemies amongst the rich and powerful along those who follow the twisted ideals of the Chantry. They would love nothing more than to suppress the truth to keep their own riches to themselves. That is why we need to be strong. To become strong, you need to follow _my _rules now, not the Chantry's. Are you guys strong enough to follow me in my mission?"

Everyone asserted their confidence, of course, but what Jack was really interested in were the prisoners. Some of them clearly thought ill of the nobles in charge of their estates, but many still seemed reluctant to openly move to support her. It was as much as she expected. They've listened though, and as long as they did the seeds have been planted in the back of their minds. All she had to do was follow up with a more direct approach.

Finishing up the sermon, she stepped aside and let Father Eirik take the stage. In his hand was a hand-bound book that they've both worked together the previous day. Written in it was her own version of the Qun – a new philosophy that could be spread willingly by those who have never tasted her blood. It was all pure bullshit propaganda of course, pulled from her memories of how modern human society worked, but to these medieval people it was probably revolutionary.

Holding up the book for everyone to see in the bright torch light, Reverent Father Eirik began his own part. "In my hands I hold the knowledge bestowed by our lady the Risen Andraste. These are her very own words, representing the will of Andraste and the Maker in a form more complete than the Canticles of the Chant. For many ages we have gone by with incomplete accounts of Andraste's trusted companions, whose words have been discarded or tampered with to suit the purposes of others. No longer will we be deceived by the lies the Chantry spews forth. Our lady herself has said that the time for singing is over. This book lays down the knowledge and rules we need to overthrow our oppressors and bring _all_ who dwell in Thedas to the stars, where the Maker awaits our arrival."

And so, Eirik began to read from a volume simply entitled as, _The Vision_.

In it, Eirik introduced the ideas that Jack thought would excite the backward commoners of this world. The Reverent Father spoke of many topics, such as the equality of races, the right of every people to have their own lands to call their home, the fallibility and non-divinity of monarchs, the importance of integrating mages and others with special powers to society, extensive rules of hygiene and the many ills that would befall those who would mock the Maker's wishes, and many, many other topics. Only at the end would he begin to talk about the Vision itself, but by then Jack would be long gone from the camp back in her private bedroom.

Alone in her suite except for a handful of guards outside, she stripped herself from her robes and flopped down her expansive bed without a care for her naked state.

'_Cults are always hard to start up, but once you get things going, it will run itself. Feh, I can't believe I'm actually doing this. It's not like I have any claim of being this Andraste bitch. I wonder what she would think on what I'm doing in her name. Hopefully, she wouldn't be too uptight.'_

* * *

The cultists have changed since that day. All their ideas about Andraste, the Chantry and even the workings of the world have gone right out the window. A great wave was at hand, one that would flood the old world with countless new ideas. It was all lies of course, but what better way to uproot a rigid society than pointing out its greatest mistakes and blame it all on their leaders? Sure, it was a bit selfish for Jack to plot the downfall of nobles when she had no quarrel with them, other than their need to obey the Chantry.

That was her real enemy in this world, she now knew. The Chantry was all-powerful and all-knowing. As long as that organization controlled the minds of its flock, Jack would never live to be free in this world. To destroy the Chantry, she would need to strike them where it hurts – their huge follower base. To do that she needed to destroy their credibility. Eastfrost was merely the first stepping stone to the spread of the Vision.

Her cultists had even given themselves a proper name: Visionaries, applied to all those who have cleansed their minds from the lies of the Chantry and have seen the truth of the Maker. The banners depicting her personal heraldry as a red dragon surrounded by a glow of blue have all had an all-seeing eye patched above it to reflect the change. All around the village and beyond, the new religion sparked a change in the lives of ordinary men and women.

But Jack wasn't interested in the hubbub her sermon had unleashed. A much more pressing matter still remained.

Figuring she had given enough time for her prisoners to take in all the stuff she had introduced, she paid them another visit in the afternoon. Jack still needed these people with their minds intact in order to propagate her new religion in the areas they came from. If they came back to their slums or hamlets acting like a total nut, the locals would just repel them. If they seemed more reasonable and accepting, then the people might be more willing to give her ideas a chance. If she couldn't even convince a bunch of hicks, she would have no hope of controlling the rest of Ferelden.

'_Well, there's always plan B, and there's also that little surprise I sent to Ostagar.'_

She was actually pretty surprised by the amount of plans she was hatching in her mind. Heck, sometimes she yearned to go back to the simple days where she could just shoot every asshole she came across. Yet, she didn't really miss that life. The responsibility of caring over thousands of unfailingly loyal subjects was a heavy burden, one that a failure such as Jack should never have taken up. Still, the feeling of being in control was exhilarating. One order from her lips and her minions would move to obey her even if it killed them. Was this what the Illusive Man felt as he directed Cerberus? The illusion of being a god?

The thought of that clandestine organization threw a wrench in her mood. Thinking of the Illusive Man and all his pathetic excuses that it wasn't his fault his cells misbehaved and breached ethical standards warned Jack that she could fall into the same trap.

That made handling the prisoners a bit.. delicate. What she needed was genuine conversion. Did she have what it takes to accomplish that?

Stepping inside the circle where all the prisoners had been gathered, she addressed the ragged crowd. "I'd like for your leaders to come forward. There are things we have to talk about."

Worried glances shifted back and forth, but none really dared forward. Jack expected this reaction, having seen it in the eyes of her fellow prisoners back at the Cerberus facility. To them, she was the experimenter, the cause of all ills and the bane of their existence. Changing that perception would be hard and not without risk, but she had to try.

With a single gesture of her hand, she waved away the guards holding these men back. Reluctantly, the converted soldiers moved away and filed out somewhere out of sight. The astonished prisoners watched with disbelief as there was nothing left between here and freedom. If they wished to, they could have just walked away. Fears of being another trap kept their feet together.

"I've sent away the guards because I don't want to talk to you as your enemy. Come now, whoever is left in charge."

Surprisingly, three idiots just went up and charged her, crying vengeance for their fallen comrades, but she quickly put an end to that show with a single shockwave.

Crossing her arms, she started to look irritated. "Look here fellows, I ain't got all day. Are you going to negotiate or do you want to leave your fate in my hands alone?"

Eventually, a trio of dignified figures emerged from the crowd. Denied of their weapons and armor, they tried to look as dignified as they could in their off-duty civilian clothes. The oldest of them, a balding man with some kind of leg wound, nodded but did not attempt any other courtesy.

"I am Arden, knight-commander of Castle Sturnberg. With me is Captain Farla commanding the archers," He gestured to a sturdy looking woman. "And Guard-Lieutenant Coster of the Sturnberg city guard. We have the consent of our people here to represent their wishes. What is it you wish to discuss, lady 'Andraste'?"

"You've listened to the sermon of yesterday, have you? What are your thoughts on it?"

The senior knight thinned his lips. "My frank thoughts might not be… very pleasant for you to hear. Suffice to say, I have no qualms to state that your petty delusions will be met with a swift end once Teyrn Loghain will mobilize against your dissidents. He does not take disloyalty very well."

Jack crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "So you think I'm lying? What about your two other fellow leaders?"

"What you're doing is blasphemy, pure blasphemy." Farla spat out. "The real Andraste would never let this horrible deception stand."

"Oh yeah? Well, why am I still alive then?" Jack mockingly spread her arms to the sky, making herself purposely vulnerable. "I'm right here Andraste! Hit me if you can!"

Nothing happened, of course. She drew her arms back down and looked smugly at the affronted woman. "You can either believe me or not, but you know as well as I do that any impostor wouldn't last long. Either I'm a really strong demon, or you can accept the fact that I'm the Maker's Bride." She turned to the final person. "Now, what about you, city guy?"

The young but fresh-faced man smiled slightly but did not look very eager. "I ahh.. do not think my opinion is worth sharing."

"Can we get to the point, witch?" Arden interrupted brusquely. "You know as well as I do that you need us to take over Eastfrost. Are you going to restrain us and force your dreadful mind sorceries on us?"

"Now why would I do that?" She responded innocently. "If I wanted to, I could have already done so anytime since the battle. Didn't you think it was strange that you weren't affected?"

The knight and the archer captain kept their stoic faces, but the more inexperienced lieutenant showed his confusion plainly. "Why have we been spared of this fate thus far?"

"Oh, 'spared' is such a negative word. The truth is a lot different than you think. Let me start it this way." Jack swept her hand to the distance where some of her guards were keeping a careful eye on her, then up ahead to the village. "Do you think they are my slaves? That I've stripped these people from their wills and make them obey no one else but me?"

"What else can this foul infection mean then?" Arden responded belligerently. "What you have done is a great cruelty, condemning these souls to a perilous life of heresy. These husks of men are as good as darkspawn now. The only difference is that their bodies haven't rotted away, though that may yet proceed."

As she listened to the response, she threw a laugh. "You think I'm just as worse as the darkspawn? You're wrong. My light is not a curse, it's a _blessing_!"

Now that certainly threw them off. "My followers aren't forced to follow me, they _chose_ to. My vision is not a poison. On the contrary, it heals the inner wounds, strengthens the body and opens the mind. You think their minds were clouded by my influence. You're wrong. It has done the exact opposite. For many years the lies of the Chantry has blinded you of what is wrong and what is right. Is it any surprise the Maker has turned away from this world when the founders of the Chantry have perverted his intentions? What my vision does is to clean that corruption, purifying your minds and bringing you back into the light of the Maker."

"You speak of lies, witch. There is no ounce of proof in your statement."

Others seemed less stubborn though, particularly the young guard lieutenant. That was something she could work on.

"The proof is all around you. You have fought against my men and witnessed their strength. Three soldiers fell for every two of my own. All my essence has done was to unlock their true potential. Humans are much more capable than you have all been led to believe. It is because of the Chantry that you have been kept so weak. They advocate humility and devotion to the Maker, but demand enormous amounts of tribute from you to fill their own pockets. Make no mistake, the higher Chantry officials all want you to be weak, so that they can control and manipulate you better. They don't want you people to rise up against their templars."

"What about the geas that you've forced upon those soldiers?" Arden continued aggressively. "You cannot claim they have been purged of their impurities when they have slaughtered their friends and comrades without mercy. Any living being who has the capacity to feel compassion would never stoop to such betrayal. The only influence that could make them resort to such abominable slaying is evil in its finest form."

Bringing her hands together, she looked the knight in the eye. Her unnerving stare made the man back off. "Look, I did not choose to fight you guys. It was the Chantry who forced you to exterminate us despite our desire to be left alone. Don't talk about slaughter and evil when you were just as guilty of doing the same. The only difference was I won. If I was really evil and all that shit, I would have just killed you outright. Could you have said the same if your side won the battle?"

"We are grateful that you have not struck back at us when we were defeated." The knight concended. "But the difference between you and I is that your heresy demands your death."

"Oh so now you go back to heresy. Are you sure the Chantry is acting in the best interests of the Maker and the people? If you've read your history, then surely you must know that they've scrapped some parts of the Chant. Why did they do that? I'll tell you: because it was inconvenient to their purposes. They disregarded the words of one of my most loyal followers in that past age, just because he was an elf. Now if they could do that, then they have likely changed other portions of the Chant to reflect their own greedy ambitions. What has nine ages of Chantry rule brought you since the day I first died? Hm? What _progress_ has our people made?"

Ser Arden couldn't manage to think up a reasoned reply, but it was clear he remained stubbornly conflicted. Since that was a dead end, Jack turned to the weakest of the group.

"You, lieutenant. You work at the city guard, right? In Sturnberg?"

The man nodded rapidly. Good, that meant he was steeped in the shit that was lower society. Jack had never seen one of Ferelden's cities or larger towns, but she was sure that some human flaws remained the same. If crime, corruption and poverty remained rife on Earth and on lawless stations such as Omega, then she would bet her worthless life that it was just as worse in this medieval world.

"Tell me then, how much suffering have you seen amongst the common folk? Have you ever witnessed merchants being bullied or murdered while one remaining competitor is in a position to take over their businesses? Or have you seen how a trade guild ruthlessly cracks down on foreign goods while raising the prices of their own? What about gangs openly extorting businesses while being ordered not to interfere unless you have witnesses or evidence, which somehow always get missing?"

The doubt in Coster's face grew stronger as he heard those questions, questions he often asked himself. "The city guard's purpose is to maintain order and administer the laws. There are many commercial practices happening in Sturnberg that I do not agree to myself, but it does not fall under our jurisdiction."

"It _should_ be your jurisdiction." Jack retorted. "How can an honest man make a living when a more powerful figure who likely amassed his wealth through crime intimidates the newcomer off the market? How can independent merchants and shopkeepers enjoy their lives when they have to pass on pretty much all their profits to a violent street gang which never contributes back to the city? I bet all the kids on the street think that a life as a gang member is better than to be a debt-ridden laborer. Do you recognize these situations back in Sturnberg?"

"…I do." The man looked ill, but his heart obligated him to reply. "You speak of truth, lady Andraste. The life of a city guard may seem noble to outsiders, as it did to me as the son of a fortunate trader in pelts. But the truth is that many commoners despise our corrupt and ineffective organization. The risk to our lives is substantial, but our appreciation and wages are so low that many guards have been seduced by the powerful lure of bribes. I have privately witnessed many of these ills, and have brought them to my superior in the guard, but the guard captain simply waves them away as realities. I have tried to gain audience to the city councilors and even the arl's advisors, but they have all brushed this matter off their hands."

"Have you ever suspected these powerful people have a hand in the abuses the guards are supposed to fight?" Jack pressed home her final point.

"How would you know of such things?"

"Because that's how the Chantry works wherever it is in control. If the peasants are too well-off, they begin to question things. The Chantry doesn't want that. They want you all to be weak, poor and stupid, and because of that they won't press the local nobility to get their hands off the crime rings. They've got all their impressive templars not to protect people from others, but to protect themselves from the people they're milking out as cows. Let me ask you Coster, how much does the Chantries in your city demand from the people as tithes."

"One coin out of ten."

"And how much benefit do you get back from the Chantry in return? Nothing! Oh, they provide a place for worship and have all these singing going around and all, but that's only to provide a place where the weak and desperate can be brainwashed into accepting their miserable lives. Don't you see that without the Chantry, people would start to demand better conditions?"

Before the flustered lieutenant could speak any more, Captain Farla stepped in. "Now wait here, 'lady'. The city might not be such a pleasant place, but the freeholds and farmsteads on these lands are prosperous. The Chantry has nothing to do with this."

"Oh really?" Jack drawled out. "How are the lowest serfs being treated? Do they have it better than the elven servants?"

On they went for close to an hour. Drawing from her experience of several of the worst dumps in Citadel space, Jack drew a scathing analysis of the abuses and deficiencies of all kinds of settlements, from cities to towns to villages to hamlets. Lieutenant Coster was pretty much convinced already due to his personal experience as a guard, but Captain Farla was a bit harder to crack. As a daughter of a freeholder, she lived a pleasant life and enlisted freely in the local bann's army. Furthermore, the freeholders elected the banns themselves, giving them much more control over the running of the territory. But Jack criticized the lack of upward mobility. Freeholders inherited from other freeholders, even if they didn't deserve it and manage to run their lands into ruin. Hard-working serfs and temporary labor had no chance of obtaining land themselves unless they married a freeholder. These lower classes were then condemned to a life of virtual bondage, where their possessions were meager and their access to public services was minimal.

The country bumpkin took it like fish to water. If not Captain Farla, then surely her lower subordinates who were listening with great interest. Only Knight-Commander Arden remained.

"I cannot fault your words, rebel." Arden replied tiredly, as if he didn't want to have this conversation. "As the commander of the guards, I have witnessed many of these faults you have described myself. Being closer to the nobles and the privileged than any other in our presence, I can also attest to the fact that many of these esteemed figures often have less than noble intentions."

"I can hear a but coming."

"Indeed." Ser Arden paced back and forth, his hands behind his back, all the while drawing curious glances. "While the injustices you have described are grave, and that the authorities in charge share some of the blame, the fact of the matter is that those very same authorities keep Ferelden safe from foreign rivals. If you persist in your promises of change and independence, you will tear our nation apart, leaving it dangling for any opportunistic country to take advantage of us. I can guarantee you then that none of your 'so-called' vision will remain present. This act of yours will lead Eastfrost and any other territories you will manage to ruin."

That was the challenge she was dreading the most. His argument was strong, and she didn't have an adequate answer for it. Rebellions were so dangerous because it provided a foothold for any rival nation to take advantage of the distraction. From all the stories she heard and read about in the books, the relationship between Ferelden and Orlais wasn't one you could call very friendly.

"You have a good point." Jack conceded, although what she really wanted was to punch the knight's face into its skull. She bet if Shepard was here, he could convince the stubborn old fool to give up his titles and wealth and rebel against the king himself. But she wasn't Shepard, and had to make do with whatever skill she had at convincing people. "However, your thinking is too rigid, old man. If everyone hesitates on doing something drastic, nothing will ever change. The serf will remain serfs. The elf servants will remain elf servants. And the greedy and powerful will inherit from their greedy and powerful forefathers. It's like a cycle where the most deserving get stomped to the ground by the noblemen and Chantry who continue to rob them blind. Is this the world you want to live in? Can you as a knight really uphold your fancy code of chivalry and all that bullcrap when all you're doing is protecting thugs whose very actions that made them rich and powerful make a mockery out of that code?"

She stepped forward and raised both of her arms and made them glow in biotic power. Thinking of all those old-fashioned romantic novels she secretly read in her outlaw days, she continued, "I can deliver change in this world, change we need, but only if you can believe in them. Tell me, as a knight, is it not better to die for a noble cause than to live for a scumbag? I thought knights were suppose to be all noble and stuff, protecting the innocent and the poor and upholding virtuous values and whatever. If you really care for the people you serve, and not just the ones who are exploiting them, then you will need me to bring about a change. You've already seen and heard the people who are already supporting my cause, including your former soldiers. I can bring about the same Revelation amongst public officials, and persuade them to do their jobs instead of just enriching themselves. Think of the good we can do to this world."

Ser Arden looked obviously conflicted now, showing Jack that she had hit the right snag. "You force my loyalties, which is despicable to do to a knight of honor. However, the cause you are advocating is much more honorable than the current rulers of Ferelden. From my personal observations, King Cailan seems quite decent and rather eager to rule for the common people, but those around him restrain his options greatly. He is not the cause for the lack of progress nor a contributor of these ills. The king is not at fault."

"That's fine. If he's really a man of the people, as you say, then he won't object to the social changes I'm proposing."

"Also, there is the disturbing matter of this forced enlightenment, as you would say. Your powers are strong, I have no doubt, but it can be… disconcerting. I am certain that many of our people are willing to give your ideas a chance, but I strongly recommend you to let the population work them out in their own time. Can you restrain yourself in this way, lady 'Andraste'?"

Pretending to understand, she nodded acquiescently. "The people are free to choose, _but_, for their lives to improve the elite and everyone else who is important has to change. All the crime, intimidation and corruption can't go away if the people who are still in place are unable to turn away. The people must have proof that their officials work in their best interest. For this to happen, the nobles must earn the privilege of Revelation. With the power bestowed on me by the Maker himself, I can bring these dark souls back into the light and make them lose the urge to abuse the system."

"By privilege, you mean…"

"You have to earn it. The only reason I blessed much of your army in the battle was because your unprovoked attack left me no other choice. Now that the village and I are safe, I can put it to use as it was meant to be used. No one but those who are both worthy and willing will be granted the privilege of Revelation. No one else will be forced to accept this blessing. It just means that those people who refuse are not allowed to run the most important parts of business and government. But really, there's no disadvantage. You become stronger, faster, smarter and grow closer to the Maker."

Arden came to his final point. "Will this also mean that myself, and my two other companions will receive the 'privilege' of Revelation?"

"If you wish to keep your command, then yes." Jack firmly answered. "I can't have people ruling over Eastfrost who I can't trust they will use their power for good. If you don't want to be granted the gift of Revelation, then that's your business. You can just step down and become a common soldier if you'd like."

Sensing another opportunity to play the chivalry card, Jack quickly followed up her previous words. "Still, a knight-commander is a very high position. If you were the one who would administer over much of the arldom, then you can be sure the poor will benefit. As a knight, you have a duty to uphold morality. Are you sure you want to leave that task to a younger and less experienced knight?"

"That is not.. an ideal solution. A knight-commander is never meant to rule, but… Very well, I will aid you in your cause if Farla and Coster chooses likewise."

When the two soldiers nodded in agreement, Arden turned back to Jack like he was just bitten by a snake. "My hands are tied. You have convinced us with your program of change and prosperity. Let us hope you will not bring us to ruin. If you would, please give us time to study your manifesto before we sacrifice our free minds to your 'Revelation'. Doing it today is somewhat abrupt. We must have time to.. prepare."

"Sure, if that's what you need. Don't take too long though, because we need to move into Eastfrost before the Chantry or some other corrupt noble occupies the land. You have until tomorrow to prepare to move out." Jack looked at the mass of soldiers who have been following the conversation. Though they all looked convinced, she wasn't quite that sure.

Still, with the support of these three leaders, she would have to put her faith in their ability to keep control. Nodding to herself, she added, "As a gesture of goodwill, I will order my men to give your people all your equipment back. That includes weapons, armor, camping gear and provisions. That way you'll be ready to move out immediately after we're finished with the ceremony."

As they parted, Jack entered the carriage that stood waiting for her with a satisfied smirk. _'Played them like a pack of cards. If this was what Shepard felt like every time he duped someone into doing something stupid, then I want in on the action. I'll turn the tables right back at that two-timing manwhore.'_

Infecting only those in power and anyone else of notice with her blood was an ingenious idea. Not only would she remain in effective control if those positions are taken, she can also deliver results to the uninfected commoners with the changed behavior. By lying through her teeth that her blood was a blessing from the Maker and all that hogwash, she turned the infection into something desirable instead of repulsive. If this unlikely plan of hers actually worked, then people would be knocking at her doors begging to experience Revelation.

More plans awaited her back at the Great Hall. From organizing her new religion, creating more 'Visionaries' to spread her propaganda to the rest of Ferelden, finding a blasted map of the Deep Roads, to making sure the army in Ostagar will have its hands full. _'This would be the time when my packages and those brainwashed knights will arrive. I hope they enjoy their news.'_

* * *

Loghain put down the letter that was handed before him and glanced at it with distaste. Taking another drink from his fine silver goblet, he nodded to his loyal vassal. "Cauthrien, what I have received is.. disturbing news. Would you please pass a request of summons to King Cailan to my private quarters? Discretion is required. Post our best guards around the tent and make sure that no one, especially the Grey Wardens, will be able to eavesdrop our conversation."

The fierce woman thumped her fist to her chest. "As you command, my liege."

Long after he was left alone, he sat on his chair reading and rereading the ominous letter. He dearly wished to crush the letter into shreds, but he needed it still.

"What is it now, Loghain." The young brash voice of King Cailan spoke irritably as the golden-armored figure stepped in the tent. "I was just about to head out for a skirmish with our glorious Grey Warden allies."

With a grim face Loghain turned to the youth and frowned. "I have a letter from Arl Saramond of Eastfrost. When I unsealed the envelope, his personal signet fell out."

The smile disappeared in the king's face as the implications became apparent. Arls and banns _never_ parted with their enchanted signet rings. It was their ultimate symbol of authority and proof that they were actually who they claimed to be. Any type of deception or demon possession would break the scarlet jewel that crowned the golden ring, as would forcibly removing it. The only way the ring could be detached intact would be for the nobleman to pull it out himself. To not only part with the ring but also send it back to his liegelord, Saramond was making a powerful statement on the urgency of the matter.

The king sighed petulantly and held out his hand. "Very well, Loghain, hand me the letter."

Reading over the stylized words, Cailan grew from concerned to distressed. "What-what is this nonsense! Is there any chance that this is just a clever forgery?"

"If you wish, Your Majesty, I can call for a mage to verify the authenticity of the ring. I can even dig up some past correspondence with Arl Saramond to compare his handwriting. But I am certain the arl means true. It matches all my suspicions."

"Surely Loghain there must be some reason for this. Saramond may not have been in his right mind, even! The Grey Wardens—"

"—Are nothing but an Orlesian plant, and this letter proves their guilt!" Loghain erupted, hammering the fist of his gauntlet to the table. "I've warned you time and again that the Orlesians have been preying our country since the day we beat them back from that blasted river. They learned their lesson that they can't match us on the battlefield, so instead they resort to dirty tricks."

"Like taking over a small village and propagating an Andrastian cult? Oh please uncle, a mountainside village is pretty isolated. Who knows what happens in a boring place like that."

"You forget the fact that a third of Saramond's army turned against each other. Clearly this Orlesian cult has more influence that we credit it for, a remarkable oversight of Saramond."

"Still," The young king persisted. "I cannot believe Saramond's assertion that Duncan had anything to do with this betrayal. I know him, Loghain, and the man would never do anything to harm me. He likes me!"

"You cannot discount his words. Any day now and his story will be corroborated by his knights who have been sent to our way. They will all say the same things: it was Duncan who let the saboteurs in the arl's impregnable war camp. It was he who encouraged the arl to attack without his siege weapons. And it was he who led the command staff and the templars to an ambush and to their deaths. It was fortunate indeed that Saramond has survived the ambush and managed to kill the treacherous Warden. We can make plans to counteract this development."

Cailan looked defeated as he slumped on a chair. Holding his fingers together, he said nothing as he read the careful words again. More and more did the letter seemed surreal. Betrayal? Orlesian incursions? And it was all happening while the main army was occupied with the darkspawn raids. As much as he wanted to discard these rambling words as delusional lies, he could not ignore the words of a nobleman.

Oh he would be sure to verify the signet ring. And compare the handwriting to the arl's other letters. And wait for the survivors of the battles to limp their way to Ostagar. Only then would he consider acting upon this disturbing development, for he could not believe that his heroes, the Grey Wardens, were complicit in this betrayal. If it eventually turned out that Duncan was stringing him along all this time, then Cailan would destroy the remaining Grey Wardens with his bare hands. _'To even think that I was considering to leave Anora for Empress Celene. How long has everyone played me for a fool?'_

As Loghain carefully gauged the idiot's open emotions, his lips curled into a smirk. _'Perhaps there's hope for you yet, Maric's boy.'_

Alistair gazed into the fire with an emotionless expression. His mind was anywhere but in the present. Shaking back and forth, he thought of nothing but his days with Duncan. From the first time the father figure visited the templars, to the moment of leaving that place, to the Joining and the blissful time afterwards. Being a bastard to the king had earned him nothing but misery and a life without direction. Duncan was the one who liberated him from that life of drudgery and gave the young man a noble purpose. The Warden-Commander personally took charge of his training and adjustment with the Grey Wardens not because he was the illegitimate son of the king, but because Duncan recognized that Alistair was just someone who wanted to do something meaningful in life. The young Grey Warden had looked forward to receiving Duncan's guidance until he was ready to stand on his own two feet against the darkspawn.

Tears fell from Alistair's eyes. _'That won't happen anymore. He's dead.'_

His eyes fell down to the pair of weapons resting on his hips. The bloodstained longsword and dagger gleamed hotly in the light of the fire as his tears fell against the smooth metal surface.

"_Alistair." Riordan said as he broke the news from the missive he had received earlier from a sympathetic knight who had a relative in the Grey Wardens. The Orlesian visitor – and the most senior Grey Warden in Ferelden at the moment – carefully handed the clothed bundle over to the shocked and paralyzed bastard. "I want you to have these. Duncan would have wanted to. I know you are not accustomed to Duncan's style of fighting, but he would have wanted to give them to you anyway. Please, take them."_

Taking the weapons was a painful decision for him to take. They were Duncan's weapons, not his. It felt.. wrong for him to possess these valuable and deadly weapons when he felt others would have been more worthy. He had been in the Grey Wardens for only a year, yet all the other fellow Wardens did not even object when he received the sword and dagger. Was he really Duncan's favorite, the son he never had, as others sometimes whispered when they thought Alistair wasn't near? He didn't feel like he deserved the honor. He didn't want to be doted and comforted.

He just wanted Duncan back.

_Riordan look gravely at the senior Grey Wardens who were assembled in the tent. Alistair felt out of place, being here only because of his close connection to Duncan._

_Despite his foreign status, everyone who was assembled deferred to the Orlesian. The Grey Wardens worked for the collective benefit of all Thedosians, so they really had only one hierarchy in the field. Which country one used to belonged to was meaningless in the ranks of the Warden. Since the Ferelden Grey Wardens were only recently allowed back into the country, many of those assembled were Duncan's recruits over many years, whilst the rest were old Orlesian immigrants. Commander Riordan outranked the next ranking Grey Warden by a large margin so there was no issue._

_Speaking gravely, Riordan laid out his thoughts. "This treachery by Teyrn Loghain and his henchman Saramond is a severe turn of events. We have all known for a while that Loghain is mad at all things Orlesians. Since much of this chapter of the Grey Wardens has been created out of the resources of the Orlesian chapter, Loghain mistakenly suspects we are a covert instrument of Orlais. With evidence of Saramond's betrayal and Duncan's death, we have proof that the teyrn is capable of acting on suspicion alone."_

"_But this doesn't make sense." Another Grey Warden asserted. "Why would Loghain go to the trouble of faking an Orlesian incursion, planning the defeat of Arl Saramond's army, just so he could pin the blame on Duncan? All those soldiers who have lost their lives in the fiasco are Fereldens. Is Loghain that insane?"_

"_It wouldn't be past him." A mage replied. "To him, the lives of his men are valuable, but they are worth the sacrifice of higher purpose. Besides, the Arl of Eastfrost has always been recalcitrant towards Loghain and this might be the teyrn's way of retribution."_

_Riordan continued ceaselessly in his analysis. "Duncan is a very formidable adversary when crossed, and he has the added benefit of being one of King Cailan's most favorable companions. To go this far to discredit the Warden-Commander will guarantee that the king cannot deny Loghain's terrible lies. I wager that on this very hour, the teyrn has been whispering these poisonous allegations in the malleable king's ears, and we cannot approach him ourselves for fear of being seen as covering up on ourselves."_

_Everyone looked back at Riordan, hoping to hear some sort of plan. He shook his head. "I cannot do much in my capacity as an Orlesian Grey Warden, nor can I give any advice on what you all should do. I think it is prudent for the rest of you for me to retreat back to Orlais, and consult with my fellow Wardens on the situation here. We will not abandon you to that treacherous black dog. I will find a way to send aid to you from Orlais without being seen as another Orlesian attempt as meddling, but it will take time and preparation."_

The other Wardens didn't look very reassured. "_But what will we do in the meantime? Loghain may move against us at any time once he receives permission from the king."_

_Commander Riordan sighed again. "For the good of Ferelden, you must stay alive and survive for the troubling times ahead that I am certain you have seen in your dreams. I suggest that you do not tempt fate and remain in the reach of the teyrn. If that means abandoning Ostagar and hiding amongst the population, then let that be so. Loghains troops can take care most of the darkspawn incursions. If the worst case comes true, then we can use his army to tie the darkspawn down while we go for the source. All of the previous Blights were concluded in the same manner."_

Alistair smiled in contempt. Riordan and the rest of the bunch only talked of running away. They made plans for the rest of the meeting to fight the darkspawn while Loghain's dogs would be hunting them both. As if that would work. Gripping the weapons tightly, the bastard turned his view to Cailan's private tent.

'_I wonder how my sibling is taking all of this. Hopefully he'll remember his dear little half-brother before he orders all our heads to a pole.'_

Thinking of Duncan's unworthy fate and all the nervous chattering amongst the rest of the Grey Wardens was making the ex-templar frustrated. _'What we should be doing is kicking Loghain's arse. Duncan would never let anyone cross the Grey Wardens. Why won't the others acknowledge that?'_

They were scared of course, all of them. None of them had the guts to confront the powerful war hero and bring his treachery to light.

No one but Alistair himself.

'_Duncan would have wanted this.'_ He resolved as he took the weapons and went back to his sleeping tent.

The next day, Alistair disappeared.

* * *

**End Notes: **Nothing to say at this moment.


	7. Who the fuck hired you?

November 13, 2010  
Revised: August 3, 2011  
By RahXephon [847246]

**Author's Notes:** This past week, when I was waiting for my takeaway order of fries and hamburger to finish, I came up on something interesting in a fashion magazine that lay in a pile of girly mags. There was a feature interview about a famous Dutch author (Jan Siebelink), and he had some strangely insightful opinions about the craft of writing fiction. I don't remember the exact formulation or nuance anymore, but he stated something like this: Men are better at writing female characters than females themselves. That is because women try to analyze and understand their female creations, while men preserve their character's opaqueness and mystery.

Is this true? Personally, I think that there is a huge amount of variation in each gender itself. You may be able to say that 'women authors have a tendency to do X, while male authors have a tendency to do Y', but the truth is that there are probably a lot of women who do Y if you just look for them. That's how I think of this subject. What about you? How would you characterize my handling of Jack's character so far? What am I doing well and what areas am I still lacking in?

* * *

_**Dragon Age: Jack Effect**_

_Who the fuck hired you?_

* * *

With an army numbering close to nine hundred able bodies, Jack was ready to sweep into the rest of the arldom of Eastfrost. Situated far away from Denerim and Gwaren and other centers of power, Eastfrost was a typical provincial backwater. Its territory was expansive, but its population density did not match the same potential. The majority of its inhabitants lived in farming freeholds over the fertile plains. Plenty of others worked from the mining towns along the Frostback Mountains. There wasn't any great treasure to find in the hick parts of Eastfrost, but the raw resources that these places churned out would be vital for Jack's coming war effort.

Aside from a few large towns on some of the most prominent banns, the real treasure was the provincial capital of Sturnberg. Positioned in an area rich with coal deposits, it boasted a strong and healthy manufacturing base. Blacksmiths, goldsmiths, whitesmiths and whateversmiths all churned out black clouds of smokes from their workshops in their drive for industry. Besides that, the walled city also featured an extensive produce market and plenty of other services. These and other activities have brought the city tremendous wealth, of which only a tiny portion trickled down to the common people. As Jack knew intimately well, power corrupted, and most of the profits flowed in the pockets of violent gangs, greedy magistrates or oligopolistic guilds. The level of corruption wasn't any different really from Ferelden's other cities. People didn't have any cause to demand better conditions because they didn't know any better. And despite all these adversities, the city dwellers have always found some way to scrounge a living. They endured.

That all changed when the survivors from the Battle of Haven first began to return. The citizens of Eastfrost weren't stupid. They knew the battle was a total loss for the Ferelden side and had been expecting the worst. Some of the more well-off had uprooted their businesses and fled the city in hurried caravans. Others rallied their compatriots to enlist in the militia to bolster the castle overlooking the city, but most didn't bother. All in all, the common city folk responded nonchalantly to the impending threat and went about their daily business of surviving the streets. Unless the enemy were darkspawn, their city wasn't likely to be razed and pillaged. It didn't matter who was in charge – they just assumed whoever was had an interest in milking out every last penny out of the city.

All in all, nothing different.

Oh, the citizens had heard word from some supposed new order. Red-robed fanatics bearing books titled _The Vision_ preached the streets with promises that crime and corruption would be eradicated and that any commoner can advance himself in society. While hopeful and optimistic, none but the most gullible took the Visionaries seriously. The occupying Orlesians had promised much of the same 'changes' before, but they proved just as greedy and incompetent as the Ferelden elite that kicked the occupiers out. Credibility was hard to gain these days, and with good reason.

But then the soldiers arrived in force. The ones still wearing their tabards of icy blue were friendly enough, but strangely did not operate as usual. Instead of seeing defeat or despair in their faces, the common folk saw a mix of hope and confusion. At the lead was Guard-Lieutenant Coster, who marched into the city guard headquarters and began to detain all the local guards. The new soldiers took the old guard's places, patrolling the streets with uncanny vigilance and making sure no disruptions would ensue. As soon as effective control was obtained over lowtown, a much larger force lead by Knight-Commander Arden arrived. This new force held a mix of old and new faces, but one look at them would reveal that something was different about them. Besides their dragon herald, these ferocious looking soldiers all displayed fanatical devotion to the focal point of the newly introduced religion: the Risen Andraste.

Old friends and families welcomed their lost brothers and sisters with reserve. These soldiers looked the same, behaved the same, but did not believe in the same things anymore. Any word about the Chantry at all would inspire a deep hatred within these men. Those family members who served as lay sisters or templars within the Chantry were met with sharp rebuke and a strong plea to quit their devotion. Suffice to say, these conflicts didn't end too well and the soldiers had to find their shelters in the barracks.

The Knight-Commander had issued a summons for all leading dignitaries to assemble within Castle Sturnberg. Administrators, judges, inspectors, guild masters and other eminent persons wore their finest clothes to attend what they thought was an emergency council. Questions rested on the tips of their tongues ever since the terrible news of Saramond's defeat had reached the city. What had happened to the army since its defeat? Why did it take so long for them to come back? What did the new dragon heraldry signify? Did some other noble take over from Saramond? No one recognized the emblem however, and were puzzled who the new ruler came from. Perhaps the one directing the troops was the other side of the battle. But that did not make sense, as these rebels were supposed to be an unorganized band of cultists. There would have been no way they could have taken over the army even if by some fluke and exceptional circumstance they managed to win against the arl's army.

Despite these fears, the gentiles trusted Arden's judgment and came en masse. Though old and past his prime, Ser Arden was known to be a fiercely loyal and principled man who tried to look after the soldiers he oversaw. Though that love did not extend to the city at large, the knight was not about to abandon the people that inhabited it. Thus these prime citizens expected to hear some plan of surrender or defense. Either way, they only really went to the trouble of attending in person in order to gain some advantage for their own personal business interests. Because if they didn't, their rivals would.

Of course, they didn't show that sentiment plainly. With elaborate courtly politesse they curtsied and bowed to each other and inquired about their work. With vicious sharp smiles they entered the council chamber and took their seats on the comfortable high-backed chairs. Elf servants hurried to serve the masters wine.

Knight-Commander Arden observed the parasites unnoticed from a hidden vantage point with slight contempt. He had not realized until now how utterly despicable the city's government actually worked. Centuries of malevolent Chantry propaganda had turned Sturnberg and many other towns and cities into cesspools of exploitation and opportunism. The Risen Andraste was completely right about the nobility and the privileged. Their blood did not entitle them to make a mockery out of laws. They were not beings of higher standing, of supreme moral authority or even of refined intellect. Beyond the fine silken clothes and fragrant perfumes were just pigs which had grown too fat by eating other people's shares. He could not imagine how ignorant he was before he had his Revelation.

When the Knight-Commander finally entered the chamber, the news they received was far from expected.

"There is only one topic on the agenda today." The old man started firmly with both fists planted on the table. His unusual initiative was disconcerting to those currently present. "By now most of you have heard the details of Arl Saramond's defeat in the Battle of Haven. In that battle, many ranks of our numbers have been slain or wounded, while our opponents remained at full strength. In this position, the remnants of the army have surrendered unconditionally."

"How come Saramond's army has returned unharmed?" A sharp-nosed woman questioned sharply. "And what is the meaning of their incessant movements through the streets? They're disrupting our businesses!"

Ser Arden stared harshly at the interrupter before resuming, "As I was saying, after our surrender, we were actually treated quite graciously by our captors. Over the course of our imprisonment, we have managed to learn from these so-called heretics and their visionary leader. We have seen and heard many things, and learned many new concepts. This leader, the Risen Andraste, is a truly gifted woman capable of unleashing terrifying spells but also remarkable enlightening in her ideas. It is through her divine blessing that the survivors of Saramond's army stands strong to this day."

"You have… cast your lot with this rebel? Have you any idea what position you've put us in? Is that why your troops are occupying the city?"

"We are merely there to provide a blanket of security in these troubling times." The knight answered lightly. "It is not our intention to keep the citizens of Sternburg captives of our new regime. Anyone who wishes to leave may do so at any time, though any who do so will forfeit any possessions left behind."

One of the brighter magistrates carefully contemplated Ser Arden's wording. "By _our_, you mean you and…"

"The Risen Andraste and her disciples. She is the light that will scour the lands of its Chantry-induced disease, the inspiration that will lead our lost minds back to the will of the Maker."

"This can't be happening!" The mayor, a round-bellied bull with too much gold weighing him down erupted with a shriek. "Our own Knight-Commander brings an army of rebels in our majestic city and is preaching open heresy in our midst! Can't you all see that his mind has been addled by foul witchcraft?"

When the mayor drew out his bejeweled rapier, a platoon of guardsmen stormed in from the solid doors. They fanned out amongst the attendees, holding their shields and swords at the ready but refrained from pointing them at the luminaries. Suddenly, the meeting had taken a turn for the worse.

"There is no need for violence, your most eminent men." Even as he said that, the knight-commander withdrew his own greatsword and laid it flat on the table.

"The Risen Andraste is not interested in indiscriminate slaughter and has expressed orders to treat you with utmost respect. However, that does not mean that we will allow you to trample over us as you have done to the rest of the city. Draw your blades, and we _will _defend ourselves. Is that clear?"

When everyone nodded, Arden continued, "With that cleared up, the road ahead is simple. The arldom of Eastfrost will soon declare its independence from the Kingdom of Ferelden. You and every other individual of importance will have to face a choice. Will you pledge your allegiance to the Risen Andraste and forfeit any loyalties to the Teyrn of Gwaren? Will you renounce your faith to the Chantry and adopt the philosophy of the Vision? If you are willing to take both these choices, then your position and your wealth will be secure. Refuse to abide by our new rule, then you will not be welcome in our lands. You will only be allowed to carry with you your retainers and anything that fits within a single caravan."

The news was hard to some. Putting your lot in a small and uncertain rebellion would risk reprisal by the rest of Ferelden. Eastfrost was a small an unimportant province, no match against an entire nation state. Prudence demanded that they leave immediately if this wasn't some sort elaborate trap. Wealth and power was fine, but not at the risk of being branded as a traitor when the rebellion would be crushed. Besides, when this unfortunate incident was finally over, the loyalists could come back and reclaim their stolen possessions.

"Suppose I stay." A young, ambitious looking noble boldly began. "What changes will it bring to our lives?"

"Everything that you need to know is written in the Vision." Holding out a hand, a guard put his own copy of the manifesto on the palm. "In it contains descriptions of our new order. Many of you, particularly the nobles, will find that your privileges will be curtailed. Your station will not grant you privileges that even the poorest beggar doesn't have, for that would be unfair. For instance, tax exemptions for nobles will be eliminated entirely." That brought a lot of alarmed expressions. "Private law and Chantry law will be abolished: citizens will have to answer to the state, not to the whims of nobles and archaic rules. Enterprises will have to file proper accounting, to be inspected and verified by agents of the state. Non-human races will receive the full rights human citizens currently enjoy – that includes labor protection for elves. Finally, to underscore equality between the privileged and underprivileged, all immunities will be revoked entirely."

That brought out the most shock. The mayoral office and other highly placed positions within the arldom provided varying degrees of immunities against the law. This measure was necessary in one way because busy officials couldn't be bothered to be sued by some peasant for a relatively trivial concern. However, it was well-known amongst those present that the right of immunity is being used far beyond its extended purpose. To be bereft of the only barrier that kept them out of imprisonment, some of those present were eying the exits with particular intensity.

Smirking behind his neutral mask, Arden dropped his last surprise. "There is one other important measure that I am obliged to mention. All guilds will lose their legal rights bestowed upon them by the Guild Charter. That will entail the ability to select apprentices, certify or disqualify craftsmen, impose price controls, establish quotas and employ private forces to enforce the preceding measures."

The guild leaders were absolutely howling at that point. "Without the guilds, there would be no order! Any third-rate charlatan would be able to pretend to be a craftsman and churn out poor quality goods!"

"And don't forget that prices would fall so low that qualified craftsmen would be run out of business!"

"There would be too many apprentices!"

"Raw material will be divided amongst too many producers!"

"Our trade will be flooded by illiterate country boys!"

"ENOUGH!" The Knight-Commander interrupted, drawing instance silence. "Milady Andraste has assured me that cities can prosper without stifling control. She herself has been to many other worlds besides this one, where free movement and competition acts as a more neutral and effective regulator than guild directives. Our Lady told us that prices were the highest and quality the lowest on planets where so-called street gangs and mercenary companies controlled the market. When our lady heard the function and description of the guilds, she equated them to those very same gangs and companies."

A few more arguments were tossed forward, but Arden brushed them all away.

"What are we to do then, now that our guilds will have lost our function?"

"One of our lady's retainers has suggested that you turn your guilds into schools or academies and share your knowledge with the rest of us. While the apprentice system will not be abolished, our lady has expressed the opinion that it is too slow and limited to train the large amounts of laborers that our expanded industry will need." Arden relayed as he sat up and prepared to leave. He gave the nobles no more thought.

"I must attend to other matters now. You are free to decide whether to leave the arldom or stay and keep your status. Those who decide to stay must study the Vision in its entirety and prepare to undergo the Ritual of Revelation. Any other functionaries not currently present but otherwise enjoy some measure of power or importance will be offered the same choice. I assure you all, you will not be alone in reforming your power bases to the Risen Andraste's satisfaction. You will not be unrewarded if you decide to dedicate yourself to her service."

As Arden and his guards left the chamber, the remaining dignitaries met each other's eyes with uncertainty and trepidation. What was this Ritual of Revelation all about?

All around the city, dutiful guardsmen tracked down other major and minor functionaries and laid out the same choices to them. Leave, or convert. The same routine was repeated elsewhere all around the countryside as squads of reavers and infantrymen visited the villages and hamlets to offer the same choice to mayors, constables and others deemed important enough to bother. The common folk watched the proceedings with curiosity and amusement. How is this Risen Andraste supposed to enforce her new rules over these powerful men and women? There were many ways to hide corruption and disguise graft. So long as the same people stayed in control, nothing in their lives would change.

Or so they thought.

* * *

Brightness flared in Jack's vision. Groaning loudly, she drew the expansive silken comforters over her head and tried to cover her burning eyelids. She was just having a good time asleep and yearned to extend that blissful time. Waking up meant facing the real world and the many responsibilities it entailed. Being the self-proclaimed bride of the Maker wasn't all cracked up like she supposed it would be. Total dweebs surrounded her every minute of her life. They looked and stared at her with intensely worshipful eyes and needed their hands held for every stupid decision.

Jeez, she wasn't a nanny. Why did they ask her dumbass things such as whether to set a progressive or flat tax rate? She didn't even know what progressive meant, and what was wrong with flat? In any case, she shoved Liam out of her face and told him to pick whatever fancied him. The former caravan trader shrugged at Kolgrim, who shrugged in return.

Then there was the incessant nagging of designing a new uniform. Scores of tailors had come to put forward a petition to dye the red reaver armor into blue to, in their words, 'reflect the magnificence of the Maker's supreme power'. They also said something that red armor was passé and that the soldiers looked frightening. Jack just laughed it off and told them to dye every soldier's uniform in red, including the guards and all. The stuck-up tailors cried indignantly as she left them to their own devices.

Still, she supposed she needed to expand her command staff in order to avoid being confronted with such stupid issues. But not yet. Sleep beckoned her drowsy mind, lulling it into a feathery embrace.

"Wake up, your radiance." A gentle woman's voice whispered in her ear. "It's almost noon madame. Urgent matters awaits you."

"Grhuugh.." Jack yawned, trying to bat the annoying servant away. She proved surprisingly nimble however. "Guw away bitch. I wanna sleep some more."

Just as she found her sweet spot, her comforter was rudely pulled away from her hands. Bright sunlight and freezing air assaulted her body and made her jerk awake. "What the FUCK!"

The hazy blur of her warm blankets teased her vision. Homing in on the softness with all her predatory instincts, she leapt from the bed with her arms wide to snatch away the fabric.

Only to land ignobly on the carpeted floor. How the hell did she miss?

"Tut tut, milady, you should really wake up and dress now."

"Alright alright." Jack snarled as she crabbed herself on her feet, letting her naked and tattooed body bare itself to the world.

The servant came back with a bundle of cloth and prepared to dress the bald woman. As Jack still tried to stir herself from her sleep, more clothes and other accessories were attached to her body. Her thoughts drifted off to the many things she still had to do. Taking over an arldom did not happen very easily. She thought it was just enough if she just marched her entire army in the provincial capital and boot out the top rulers. It turned out that it was a matter of some delicacy. Subordinates wouldn't immediately obey a new boss, no matter how much better he was at his job. Not everyone could be put through Revelation, especially those on the lowest ranks.

The people who had to choose between leaving or conversion had to be picked carefully. Too little and the system wouldn't change. Too much and people would start to fear and resent the changes. Her staff would just have to pick out the most influential officials to initiate a change both in the top and just hope results would cascade down to the bottom. Jack wished she could do it herself but she was the first to admit she had no clue how to run a government, let alone a girl scout team. She just had to rely on Knight-Commander Arden and Guard-Lieutenant Coster to make the right selections in the city, and leave the countryside to Captain Farla. Trusting someone in the civil government, even one who had gone through the ritual, was too risky. How far would the influence of her blood extend to a person's self-interest? Perhaps she should test the limits to her control some time.

"All done, madame."

"'Kay." She muttered, then headed out to the exit.

Only to trip from her own gown.

"The hell?" Jack sputtered as she looked at her garments for the first time. "What's up with this frilly shit?"

A red-haired beauty wearing an innocuous Visionary robe smiled back with restrained amusement. "Why, it's the latest Orlesian fashion. The lengthier the gowns, the more elegant you appear to be. Multiple layers are also all popular this summer. I hope the ensemble suits your needs."

Letting out a frustrated cry, Jack showed what she thought about the elaborate dress by tearing it in half. "I don't need this girly bull crap. Get me something more practical."

"As you command, madame." The servant curtsied and went back to the dresser to take out a garment that looked just as impractical as the one Jack had torn.

"Not that one either." Jack said as she shoved the ditzy girl away and rummaged through the dresser herself. "Jezus fuck, where were all my old clothes?"

"I threw them all away when I saw them." The servant replied with her whimsical French accent. "Your old maidservants have no fashion sense at all, no surprise if they all came from a backwater village. Some of the dresses even looked to be rotting in the closet for fifty years. Can you imagine the horror? Such poor choice of clothing would not do for a reincarnated Andraste. What would people think?"

Brushing away another dress the redhead held out, Jack glared back. "I don't care what other people may think about me from my clothes. If I can move and fight in it, fine. If not, it's not my style, and I can tell you right now these stupid dresses AREN'T my style."

"But they had cost many dozen sovereigns, milady! The fabric alone would have bankrupted a family. It took much time to track down the best Orlesian importers and even more to haggle the right prices."

"Don't care." Jack brushed away as he went for the storage chest holding her dragon hide armor. "If you're that prissy about it, you can keep them yourself."

"Oh milady, that would not do. A mere servant such as me would not be worthy of such a great gift. Perhaps you would not object if I would send them to your tailors to.. restyle them?"

"Whatevs."

When Jack was finally dressed in something she wouldn't trip over, she exited the sleeping chamber and asked a guard to escort her to the dining room. Hurried castle servants scrambled to prepare a brunch. As she was munching on some eggs and toast, she noticed that no one waited to brief her. That was strange. Even if her council had nothing to report, usually there were still swarms of sycophants nearby waiting to be deigned by Andraste herself. Some even had it in their crazy minds to woo her. A few kicks and punches in the nuts dissuaded most of them, but a few of the more desperate men started wearing groin armor, hoping that would save their manhoods. Fat chance.

As she finished her meal, Jack looked around but saw nothing but a few faceless guards and elf servants. "Where's Kolgrim? Or Eirik? Or Arden?"

"They're all occupied at the moment." A French accented voice replied from behind, which almost made Jack jump out of her seat. "General Kolgrim is coordinating the dispatch of scouts to the borders. Father Eirik is leading the recruitment and training of Visionaries to spread the word of your arrival. And Knight-Commander Arden is helping the effort of merging the civil government of Eastfrost together with the Haven council."

Eying the servant coolly, Jack made a comment. "You sure know a lot. Aren't you supposed to be my private dresser or something?"

"Oh a lady of my talent is capable of more than picking the right clothes." Jack rolled her eyes, but the servant continued unfazed, holding out her hand to tick off points. "I'm your personal dresser, secretary, translator, messenger, diplomat, chauffeur, musician, storyteller and poet! Oh, and I can do your hair, too, if you feel like growing it out some day!"

Jack was not amused. "Who the fuck hired you?"

"Oh, it was Eirik. He thought that since you've taken over the entire arldom and all that you needed a more sophisticated maidservant. Could you believe half of your previous servants couldn't even read? Well, little old me strolled through this city on my way to a quiet sleepy town until I heard about the job offering. Who could resist serving Andraste herself? And your new ideals, just brilliant! The nobles and chevaliers back in Orlais would have a heart attack if they read your Vision. Well, having just left the employ of an Orlesian court, I auditioned for the role. My modest courtly skills dazzled Eirik into hiring me on the spot."

Sighing, Jack accepted the explanation. Still, the woman seemed awfully ditzy for a converted person. She had never seen someone so intimate and unreserved to her before. A creeping suspicion nagged her mind. "You have gone through the Ritual of Revelation, have you?"

"Oh of course, the entire works. It didn't take much time at all to read the little book and go through all the singing and chanting and drinking. The wine tasted kind of sour, though." The servant's face contorted. "Pick a better year."

"Hmph. Most people told me the wine tasted good. The best thing they ever drank, even."

The maid let a little laugh and mockingly waved her hand. "Well you Fereldens have an awful taste for liquors, if I may say so. Ferelden is as good in brewing wine as Orlais is in training dogs."

The conversation turned into confusing territory, so Jack let it drop. Instead she thought of the matters needing her personal attention. "So, 'secretary', what's on my agenda today?"

"My name is Leliana, madame, and I've scheduled the entire afternoon for a rather urgent matter. Guard-Captain Coster – Ser Arden promoted him – requests your assistance on lifting the siege of the hightown Chantry."

That rose Jack's eyebrows. "Siege? On a Chantry?"

"As Coster describes it, Reverent Mother Arlan who survived the Battle of Haven, returned to the Chantry a week before your army arrived. She prepared the remaining templars, brothers and sisters of the surrounding Chantries to gather in the hightown Chantry to form a concentrated defense. In response, Coster roused the guard and surrounded the Chantry, but he is unable to decide how to proceed. He deferred to the Knight-Commander, who in turn deferred the matter to your personal attention."

"Sounds like my kind of shit." Jack muttered before letting Leliana lead her out on the courtyard.

The servant held out the door for the carriage out to the foul-tempered biotic like she was a princess. Jack ignored the outstretched hand. Again unfazed, the smiling young woman somehow deftly managed to brush aside the usual coach driver and took the reins herself. Jack's foul mood only worsened when she saw she wasn't rid of the bubbly girl.

'_Great. Is she going to wipe my ass for me too?'_

* * *

The carriage arrived to the Chantry together with an escort of mounted guards. Looking through the window, Jack saw that the word 'siege' was not misplaced. Coster's guards had built makeshift barricades out of carts and market stalls to contain any outbreak. Spotting blood-soaked tiles and a few bandaged soldiers, it looked like their caution was warranted. Evidently, these Chantry diehards still had teeth.

Barging out of her coach before she let that redhead offer to let her out, Jack stormed over to an exhausted looking Coster. The man's sleepless eyes bored into her own. Barely managing to bump his fist against his chest, he immediately began with his report.

"The dissidents are well fortified in the Chantry. Though we do not know how much food and water they have stored, we estimate from merchant accounts that they can last for at least two months with their current numbers. The Reverent Mother has hardened her remaining followers against your rule with her Chantry lies, and all attempts at negotiations have been met with violence."

Eying the expansive church-like building, Jack thought of the best ways to solve this problem quickly. While the Chantry wasn't built with defense in mind, its huge stone walls and lofty arches made it very difficult to assault from any direction. Its only weak point was the heavy wooden entrance, but it still took a ram to take it down.

"Why aren't there any mages here? They could easily burn the Chantry down."

"We've tried that already. There are too many templars inside for magic to have any effect. They're negating everything we throw at them."

"Oookay… what about regular fire arrows?"

"The door is enchanted against fire. It is obviously of high quality. Perhaps the Chantry has anticipated its need when it constructed the building."

"Oh great." Jack folded her arms together. Already she could feel the stares of onlookers who were concerned at the proceedings happening in their own neighborhood. She took a quick look at them and saw they were virtually all unconverted. That meant they would be squeamish if a massacre would ensue. Worse yet, word might leak out of the city, turning the stubborn Chantry bastards into martyrs.

In other words, she hadn't the slightest clue how to solve this dumb problem. But she had a feeling whatever choice she did eventually make would reverberate throughout Eastfrost and the rest of Ferelden. The treatment of these last remnants of the Chantry loyalists would send a message to every other Chantry in the world how she actually thought of them. _'Shit. I don't want people to think of me as the rest of the universe thought of the Council after the Krogan Genophage.'_

Drawn to Jack's presence, a few red-robed Visionaries had wormed their way through the crowd. Now they were preaching the evils of the Chantry to the curious onlookers. They quoted the most vicious quotes from the Vision, telling the ones who still bothered to stay on how the Chantry wanted the people to starve so they could eat in luxury and all that stuff. While some of those present started to leave discretely, the more excited people stayed. They looked as if they wanted to hear their downtrodden luck wasn't their fault but of someone else's making. It was easy to blame the Chantry for all their ills instead of their own lazy selves. That was what made The Vision so effective.

"Look at them, look at them!" A frantic Visionary pointed towards the Chantry with great theatrics. "The Reverent Mother and her chosen pets cower before our wrath! For centuries they have lived off the fat that streams from our sweat! Now, while our ribs are bare and their bellies are fat with greed, they cannot even move off their gilded thrones to confront us in the open! They do not think of the poor and needy. Only greed will move them, but all that wealth is locked away. A great treasure lies within that Chantry, uncounted piles of gold their templar thugs have taken from our deserving hands. I say now to the Reverent Mother, give it back!"

"Give It Back! Give It Back! Give It Back!"

As soon as the preaching turned to some supposed stash of gold in the vaults beneath the Chantry, a lot more beggars and ruffians had gathered. From all the chanting and the acid tone, the group was rapidly turning into a mob. Already the city guards were looking nervously at each other, wondering whether they would need to step in to keep control.

'_Ugh, dumbasses. But maybe…'_ Jack turned back to Coster. "It would be a bad idea if we would storm the Chantry directly. Let's leave."

"I beg your pardon!" Coster sputtered disbelievingly. "But milady, if we unman the barricades, the templars have free reign in the rest of hightown. They might opt to attack any number of institutions here, even inside if they opt for a disguise. Leaving them to the open is highly unadvisable."

Tired of all the backtalk, Jack simply pointed her finger against Coster's armored chest. "Look, I'm the one giving orders here. I'm the motherfucking Andraste herself, and I don't make mistakes. So when I tell you to pack up and leave, you pack up and leave. Understood?"

"Erm.. as you wish, milady. Forgive my abject tone. It was inexcusable."

Turning back to her carriage, she watched closely as Coster ordered his lieutenants to direct the city guards to file in and march off the streets. As Jack stepped in her coach, she absently beckoned for Coster to come and sit with her. He arrived soon after and let Leliana graciously lead him to the opposite bench.

Clearly curious why he wasn't dismissed, Coster asked why he was still needed in Jack's presence.

"Just wait."

The soldiers marched out with Jack's entourage not far behind. The fanatic Visionaries stayed at their place and kept riling up the crowd. Thunderous shouts bellowed in the skies, rattling even her already uneven coach. Leliana toyed with the reins in order to keep the horses calm. Leaning out with an arm rested over the windowsill, Jack observed with growing satisfaction as the mob grew more violent. As the carriage was about to turn behind a structure onto an avenue, she held out a palm. Instantly her carriage and her escort halted in place. With contemptuous calm she rummaged through a pouch and retrieved her magnifying quartz. She didn't want to miss the show.

The feverous pitch the Visionaries had cultivated was finally reaching its climax. With the hundredth or so time of chanting "Give It Back.", the crowd of miserable laborers, street dwellers and other refuse started to claw their way forward and flood itself against the huge double doors. With fists and fingernails they rabidly demanded entry within the fortification. Clubs, truncheons and other street weapons joined the pounding.

Eventually, though sheer weight of numbers the bar that held the doors locked had broken down. The haphazard crowd was then free to stream inside the Chantry and throw themselves against an alert line of templars. Their gleaming shields and swords were ready to meet the oncoming horde. The robed brothers and sisters of the order stood ready in the back with crossbows, rocks and other makeshift projectiles.

It was a slaughter.

Poorly forged daggers failed to penetrate the thick, solid plate that encased the templars. Clubs and other blunt weaponry often broke into useless splinters. All the while, the templars fell into their trained and honed combat regime, methodically slashing and stabbing the rushing human wall. When the pressure was too much they simply bashed the crowd back with their shields. Further down the horde, arrows and other deadly projectiles rained death upon the unarmored and unshielded crowd. Soon their frenzy turned into hesitance. Hesitance shortly made way for complete and utter panic.

Those at the back were the luckiest. They did not have to press against the still-oncoming bodies to run out of the Chantry and slink back in the streets. Eventually, all that was left of the battle was a carpet of dead commoners and a handful of wounded or exhausted templars. Whatever happened to the Visionaries who instigated the riot, no one knew, not even Jack. Not that she cared.

"Milady… how horrible." Her maidservant uttered. Though she sat outside on the driver's seat of the coach, Jack could imagine her shocked expression. At least she hoped it was. "Those poor souls.. they didn't deserve to die. Why let them run to their deaths?"

Guard-Captain Coster, looking none too comfortable himself, concurred with the thought. "The guard positioned itself around the Chantry to protect the people from the templars. Their deaths were unneeded. The casualties the templars have suffered are very limited in comparison. Those men, although easily led, have thrown their lives away for nothing."

Shaking her head, Jack pointed her finger at Coster yet again. "Have we already forgotten about whose in charge? I knew those idiots would charge in without thinking and they did. I didn't force them to throw away their lives. They made the choice themselves."

Coster was clearly not satisfied with that reply alone, but Jack had to show who was in charge. Oh, she had her reasons, but she wasn't about to let some underling force her to constantly explain her every decision. "I have no need for you anymore. You can get out and organize the guard to protect whatever in hightown needs protection against a squad of templars. Make sure the gates are closely guarded – I don't want those zealots to slip out of here. Whatever you do, don't let a guard roam close to that Chantry."

Strained but still obedient, the Guard-Captain acknowledged his orders and stepped out of the carriage in obvious conflict.

"Secretary. What's next on the agenda."

"..Well erm.. nothing at the moment. I've scheduled the collective administering of the Ritual of Revelation to the city's elite at supper, but that is at least four hours from now, milady."

"Hmmm… time for myself, eh?" Scratching her itchy bald head, she stayed silent as she thought of the things she could do. Things she was supposed to be doing. _'I let the others handle most of the work because I can't do shit except kill and fuck. Since there's nothing to fight or fuck at the moment, I ain't got nothing else to do. Great planning, Jack, really great.'_

Maybe her talented servant had a suggestion. "Hey redhead, do you have any ideas what I should do?"

It took ages before Leliana had the will to speak. "Milady, perhaps a view from the walls would prove refreshing. I suggest you take up the east walls. You'll be able to have a glimpse of the heartland of Ferelden."

"Hey, that's actually a good idea. Lead me there."

Leliana led the carriage through the scenic route on the way to the outer walls. Magnificent landmarks passed Jack's vision, from ancient statues to majestic mansions. The sight of all these timeless art somehow managed to sooth Jack's nerves. It was as if she ceased to be a dictator and become a tourist, at least a little while.

Sturnberg was the city of industry. Fuelled by abundant deposits of nearby coal, it allowed for hundreds of workshops to form raw materials into end products. The many black smokestacks floating from the chimneys added its own unique charm to the hilly city. The rest of the buildings had its own quaint attraction, if a bit mundane to the native Fereldens. They were sturdy wooden buildings, often two-floored and topped with V-shaped roofs to prevent snow from stacking up. Many of the larger buildings also had external support struts, as if to complete the medieval ensemble.

Sometimes, Jack wondered if she was just stuck in a never-ending dream. From the time she fought in the Collector base, nothing made sense anymore. What was that ancient device that forced her to end up in this backwater world? Where did the Collectors get it? And how long was it left to rest in the Collector base? The story didn't make much sense, and she still wasn't sure whether the truth was as plain as it seemed. Perhaps she wasn't physically transported at all, just put in some weird stasis while her mind was tripping on acid. Of course, that story didn't make much sense either, but it was a possibility.

Eventually, the carriage arrived at the east gate. Stepping out, Jack was confronted by the stench of frantic traffic. Merchants, craftsmen and other well-to-do's who were forced to choose between leaving and conversion had packed up whatever they could fit in their caravans and headed out of the city. Alert guardsmen blocked the gate and inspected each and every individual and his cargo, documenting their names and possessions before being allowed to leave. It was a pity to see all that wealth and knowledge disappear from her reach, but it would ultimately amount to little in the long run. Better to give her movement a more lawful façade and emphasize its voluntary nature to avoid disenfranchising others. People had to want to join her movement, and aspire to become worthy enough to undergo the Ritual of Revelation.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Leliana prompted as she joined her master in absorbing the sight of the huge open plains beyond.

Forests, farmland and untamed lands beckoned beyond the idyllic landscape that provided Sturnberg with its grain and beer. A long stringy line of caravans followed the wide unpaved road from the gates to a destination unknown. To Jack's vision, the black specks looked as insignificant as a colony of ants. With one crush of her boot she could press the life out of these insects. It would have been so easy to reverse her orders and send out her cavalry to kill the fleeing cowards and loot their precious cargo.

She didn't, and not just because her councilors advised her against it. Jack didn't quite know why she refrained. Sometimes it was all a muddle. One moment she would take pity on helpless cultists or enemy soldiers, and on other times she would just ruthlessly behead a neutral person and cause a riled up mob to run to their deaths. She knew she was being erratic and inconsistent, but she couldn't just stop and become all logical like Mordin.

Chaos was rooted in her existence since even before her tumultuous birth. Cerberus had tried to impose its own brand of order on her will and body by conditioning her with drugs and violence. They failed miserably, creating only a more dangerous monster in the process. With all the crazy events that had happened since her arrival on this world, Jack was even deeper rooted in chaos than she already was. Before, her influence extended as far as the range of her submachine gun. Now, with an army at her fingertips, she felt she could take on the entire world and shake it from its very core. Already she took a sliver of land to her name, and that was just the beginning.

Eastfrost was small time. The rest of Ferelden would follow soon enough. All she had to wait was for their main armies to arrive. The next phase of her plan would commence soon.

Turning back from the chilly view, she spoke to her servant, "I've seen enough. Let's go back."

The world beckoned.

* * *

The evening went smooth. Jack and Leliana arrived back at the castle in time to witness the administering of the Ritual of Revelation on the city's power brokers. There were only a handful, and likely only a portion of the original ones who had been invited to receive this privilege. All the undying loyalty to the Risen Andraste probably had frightened them all away. Those who remained were either seduced by the benefits such as an increase in strength and endurance, or thought they would somehow cheat the procedure and remain sane enough to take advantage of the new occupiers.

Sadly for them, the Ritual was more than just saying a few fancy words before drinking a goblet of infected wine. The former outlaw's past jaunts in cults had given her a more than cynical view of the many theatrics involved. In truth, most of the silly rules and customs were purposely designed to occupy and confuse the naïve idiots who fell for the scam.

After some harmless introductory pranks, the initiates went to the elaborate motions of stripping their clothes (just for fun), trying to shed tears to be used as an ingredient (totally useless), singing a few tacky songs (also useless), writing their sins on a piece of parchment (might be useful to know), cut a portion of blood from their arm to draw a sign on their chest (for giggles), then finally they were allowed to drink the goblet of wine. After that, they would be forced to dunk their heads in a bucket of water and hold their breaths for exactly 27 seconds (she made up the number at random) while trying to form the letters A N D R A S T E with their fingers behind their back (to spice the ritual up; mages would stand in the background making the fingers glow in heavenly white). After that was the adjustment period. They were given a moment to rest and adjust to the new changes in their bodies in mind. Then they would write the rest of their sins on paper that they didn't dare to do before. Those who added nothing at all or far too much would be offered a pilgrimage to Haven, where they would all be quietly eliminated.

After that followed Jack's crowning ceremony.

The only problem was that Jack herself wasn't informed of the event until one hour before it was supposed to begin.

"What the hell is with these stupid clothes? Is this your idea?" Jack grumbled as she had suddenly been accosted by her redhead servant and a few of her fellow ninnies. Her protective armor had been stripped from her body, and in its place was another one of those frilly Orlesian dresses, only a hundred times worse. It was of the purest white, but studded heavily with jewels and gold. Worse yet, a cruelly tight corset squeezed her stomach and a pair of tiny stilettos was hardly able to contain her straining feet.

"Your subjects await, milady. Better go through with this if you want this to end quickly."

Finally, when all the silly dress ups and applications of make ups had finished, a much more elegantly dressed Leliana led Jack to the throne room. Gathered there, standing side by side all the way up to the dais of the huge chamber were rows of converted dignitaries. Some she recognized from the Ritual, others she didn't but most have been converted recently. With her procession of maidservants, Jack nervously travelled the long red carpet all the way up to the throne. As she passed through the soldiers and other important dignitaries, they started to put a hand at their waist and bow straight down. The scene was rather comical, as if she was guiding a series of fallen domino stones. Eventually she reached the top of the dais with her funny shoes where her councilors awaited her presence.

Glaring angrily at the smirking Eirik, Jack made her thoughts known. "Why did you drag me through this ordeal? I didn't agree to all this shit. I'm the Risen Andraste, if you haven't known already. I don't need a crown and all that crap."

"On the contrary, it is very necessary, milady. The people of Eastfrost would not recognize you otherwise, as you have no claim of nobility. We must show the world that we are a legitimate state, with a proper head of state. Without crowning you as our empress, your subjects would not have the firm authority that is necessary to govern your realms in your name."

Jack genuinely didn't think all of this was necessary. Even if it was, she had no desire to participate in some primitive crowning ceremony like some prize cow waiting to be milked. She'd rather just sign some official looking document, but it seemed that was not the custom in this world. Sighing, she went through the motions. Seeing her minions develop plans on their own started to make her feel like she was losing control.

Eirik spread his arms, showing off his impressive Visionary robe. The red specter ceased all the mumbling that had grown through the lull, allowing the Reverent Father to speak. "My fellow Visionaries and disciples, the time is at hand where we shall make ourselves known to the world that we are more than just a rebellion. For it is not us who rebel, but rather the Chantry invested powers who rule all of Thedas under their iron fist who are the real rebels. They have perverted the Chant of Light, enforced the continuation of tyrannies, and suck out the wealth of the common people. These truths make it undeniably clear that the Chantry rebels against the Maker and his chosen Bride."

"No longer." He continued as he took the silvery crown resting on a pillow. "With this divine symbol of royalty, we vest our hopes and dreams in a new sovereign state that will represent all who are true to the Maker. We, as the followers of the Risen Andraste, make our mark in this world by crowning our divine lady in accordance to the will of the great shaper of worlds."

The man then slowly bent his knee and presented the knee towards the out-of-place looking Jack. "Milady Andraste, it is my honor to present to your divine eminence a crown to formalize your rule. The state of Eastfrost desires you to rule in their stead. Please, take our humble gift."

When the Reverent Father said no more, and everyone else waited silently in anticipation, she took the slim silver crown in her hands. Such an… underwhelming crown. It was hardly larger than a toy tiara. The silver wasn't anything special either, being even more abundant than gold. No jewels blinked from its ornate carvings, not even a flimsy ruby. Compared to the extravagant travesty of her robes, the crown looked horribly plain.

Eventually, Jack just plopped the damn thing on her almost clean-shaven head.

A few people started to clap. The empty sounds echoed lonely throughout the candle-lit hall, but it was quickly joined by the rest of the ecstatic crowd. Everyone smiled and clapped, as if she had accomplished some great feat. It was all lost on the recently crowned outlaw. This world was not hers. These rules were not her rules. These people.. were not her people.

"Let this day be known as the birth of the Empire of Andraste. Our loving monarch is Andraste the Second, the Reborn, the Truthful. While our empire only rules over one state at the moment, more will flock to our growing banner when they hear of the truths our lady brings to bear. Long live the Risen Andraste!"

"Long live the Risen Andraste!"

"Long live the Risen Andraste!"

It was official now. The Empire of Andraste came into being. Although it only comprised of one state, its structure was modeled after the Tevinter Imperium's old style of governing. Individual provinces roughly the size of an average arldoms would be designated as a state. A bunch of states would be designated as a territory, such as all the states of Ferelden. Those governing individual states were governors, while those ruling an entire territory were called princes.

Such designs seemed premature to Jack, but her councilors and advisors had been scheming this behind her back for weeks now. Well, it wasn't so much hidden from her sight than she simply didn't have any interest in these boring affairs of state. The legalistic details really did bore her to tears, but she would have appreciated more input before these eager dolts went ahead with their crazy schemes.

'_Was this what Shepard always tried to fight? The need for control versus the need to let more capable people do their thing? How does he manage to keep it to himself?'_

Events seem to spin out of her control. She needed to take it back.

The next morning, after another rude awakening by her so-called maidservant, she called her council to a war session.

"Enough fooling around." She started the session forcefully. "All this formalizing and annexing business is just distracting us from our real purpose. War. Conquest. Victory. King Cailan and that Loghain dude haven't simply waited on their asses all the time. What's the latest news?"

General Kolgrim answered first. "My scouts have been tracking Loghain's army. As of yet, they have not moved from their fortified position in the ruins of Ostagar. While they seem to be in a hurry to beat back the darkspawn raids, more simply materialize after every battle. All of this indicates that a decisive battle is approaching. If Loghain decides to pull out his troops, the rest of south Ferelden would become extremely vulnerable to the unopposed horde. That is the only advantage that has prevented our destruction. Every day that army is tied down is another day to which we can prepare."

"How have you been preparing?"

"Well, our greatest disadvantage is the discrepancy in numbers. Ferelden simply has more troops than us. While our continuously growing army numbers in the thousands, Ferelden can easily field a force of twenty thousand, double if they fully mobilize. To our fortune the King does not take either us or the darkspawn threat seriously enough to prepare his nation for total war, so at most we can expect to face Loghain's current field army at the most."

"But that's already pretty big, right?"

"Yes, milady. Almost all the available troops of the southern half of Ferelden are at Loghain's disposal. The Teyrn of Highever and his northern armies will not depart for at least a month by our indications. However, it is said that the Teyrn of Highever is a disciplined warrior and a wise leader of men. His wisdom combined with Loghain's cunning brilliance will make their combined armies a very formidable opponent. We must act before they link up."

All of this was fairly known to Jack, except for that little detail about the Teyrn of Highever. Jesus, she had expected that little distraction with the darkspawn would keep Loghain occupied for at least several months while she could slowly build her strength. Now, it seemed, time was once again working against her. "Just a month? Fuck."

"We are also coping with a distance disadvantage. To march out of Eastfrost and reach Ostagar in our best pace would take at least ten days, so we actually have less time to react."

"Damnit." Jack cursed as she leaned her head over her hands. With all the fuss in Eastfrost she hadn't taken the time to think about their acute threat. Still, there was that other matter… "Father Eirik, did you have any luck finding a path to the Deep Roads?"

To her disappointment, the apostate shook his head. "Alas, I have failed you in this task. It is known that the darkspawn dwell the Deep Roads and have means to reach the surface in every province, but we know not these hidden pathways. The city's libraries contain no word of any means of reaching the Deep Roads except for a few rambling accounts. The only other way to enter there is through Orzammar, but they do not allow any humans beyond the Grey Wardens entry to the Roads."

Orzammar… she remembered the place on the map. It was somewhat to the north of Eastfrost, a good week's travel. However, she had heard plenty of stories that navigating the underground network of abandoned caves was a time consuming venture. Jack needed to make contact with the darkspawn and ally herself against their mutual enemies. She didn't buy the widespread belief that these rotting monsters were violent and unreasoned. Hearing them talk of the plague of darkspawn was the same as hearing the System Alliance talk about the scourge of Vorcha. Sure, the Vorcha were violent and unrefined scum, but they could think and talk like any other sentient being. Religious bias had prevented Thedosians from making any serious attempt to reach out and understand the dark threat, only fearing them for their terrible Blights. There must be a key somewhere, a key to which she could force the creatures to acknowledge her and align their interest with hers. The former test subject knew what it was like to be treated as monsters.

"Never mind with the search Eirik. We don't have the time to find some hidden tunnel and waste weeks of trekking to find a darkspawn officer who won't kill us on sight. Instead…"

A slight pause emerged in the discussion as Jack calmly grabbed a goblet of wine and took her time to sip it empty. Everyone else just stared at her and each other, wondering whether to say something else. In truth, Jack was just trying to formulate the right words in her mind to convey another idea she had been toying with for some time.

"I know you guys have a hard time accepting that I want to cooperate with the darkspawn at all." That was an understatement as all of those present looked indignant or concerned, especially the newcomers such Knight-Commander Arden or Guard-Captain Coster. "You think that they are the corrupted Tevinter magisters that tried to reach the Golden City. That's true, but think ahead. How many magisters did the Tevinter Imperium originally brought to the Golden City?"

A few guesses were thrown around, from a dozen to a thousand at the most.

"Now how many individual darkspawn have risen up and died during the Blights? How many of them are currently keeping Loghain's army of ten thousand busy?"

The number had to reach at least to a million. Any less and the Blights would never had the devastating effect that they had over the centuries of war.

"Do you see what I'm getting here?" Pressing her point, Jack didn't allow the people assembled to dissent. "It's impossible that any darkspawn that have managed to survive at this point are any of the original Tevinter mages who fucked up their big dream of turning the Maker's home into the Old Gods' litter box. Whatever is currently posing as the dark creatures are nothing but past slaves, distant grandchildren or something else. They weren't involved in corrupting the City. They didn't have a choice in becoming who they are. You all hate the darkspawn for their sins against the Maker and their destructive Blights, but is it right to blame the debts of long-distant ancestors to their unruly children, who just don't know any better?"

The novel idea gave everyone a thought.

"But milady," Captain Farla started gently. Her countryside background made her more intimate with Chantry lore. "Though your words all ring as true, you have not suffered from the legacy of Blights. We know from the tales that the very First Blight that plagued the Imperium and all of civilized Thedas had given your first incarnation an opportunity to rise against their weakened states. If you think you can benefit from the darkspawn's trail of destruction again, I say you are a fool. Continue with this madness, and you will see all of Ferelden engulfed in a storm of ash and dust."

"Farla, your tone is out of place." Arden admonished her none to gently. "The Risen Andraste sees beyond what mortals such as us can ever hope to glimpse. Her word rings of truth. Every account from her first appearance in the hills of Haven to her crowning was the result of her extraordinary insight."

The others concurred, not because it was the politically correct thing to do, but because they genuinely believed it to be true. They had eaten all the propaganda like the two maidens that had eaten out of one goblet.

As Jack's most loyal follower, Kolgrim affirmed the sentiment. "While your words of advice have merit, we must not forget we serve at Andraste's pleasure, who in her own way is the only true servant of the Maker himself. Her abilities and accomplishments all attest to the undeniable fact that her judgment has always been right."

"It's just.." The archer captain turned her trembling face away from the council. "The men will have an even harder time to accept this perspective, especially those still unworthy to receive the Ritual of Revelation."

"Well then," Jack interjected before someone else could continue this argument. "We will just have to take our best and brightest to meet out Loghain's army in the Wilds."

Instant alarm spread throughout the council.

"Milady Andraste, you cannot be serious!" Kolgrim uttered, despite having argued Andraste's infallibility a minute earlier. "We can only field up to fifteen hundred if we Ritualize all the new recruits, and that is still too small to fight Loghain's army in the open field. There is no possible stratagem we could utilize to negate that much of a numerical superiority."

Holding up a palm to stop all the protestations, the newly crowned empress turned to her general. "Didn't I tell you before that the enemy of my enemy is my friend? I'm not crazy enough to attack the King's forces with my own men alone. While I had been planning to meet some darkspawn leader somewhere in the Deep Roads to make a formal alliance, I recently realized that all that stupid crap wasn't necessary. The both of us can work together without a contract. We just have to attack Ostagar at the same time. Didn't Kolgrim say that a decisive battle was on the way? Our army just has to be there before it starts and stab the Fereldens in the back."

Utter silence descended upon the gathering, until one official blurted out, "That-that's brilliant!"

"It is not so simple, however." Kolgrim added cautionary, earning understanding nods from all the warriors and soldiers in the council. "First, while our troop numbers cannot compare to the Southern Ferelden Army, it is still large enough to attract significant attention even in the unsettled lands of the Korcari Wilds. The King's scouts will surely be able to track our advance days before we arrive in the vicinity of Ostagar if spies have not already reported in. Cailan or Loghain may then simply opt to lead out a large force out of Ostagar to meet us in a separate battlefield where the darkspawn cannot reach in time."

"And what's the second point?"

"We have no method of controlling the blighted creatures' movements and decisions. If we start the attack on the fortress, then they do will not automatically follow suit. We are dependent on their discretion to make a simultaneous assault work possible at all, but if they take too long the odds will be high that Loghain will fight us separately and defeat us in detail. This course of action is just too dependent on the whims of the darkspawn."

All true, Jack admitted. The discussion tossed back and forth for a while, with most of the soldiers arguing against this reckless move while the more ignorant civilians saw only hope. Waiting for the Fereldens to siege the castle might be more controllable, they argue, but it would hardly matter as they would be all alone in their resistance. Even if the darkspawn didn't actively cooperate with their rebel movement, they could still exploit the unthinking creatures.

"Enough." She said firmly, deciding to end the discussion. "Kolgrim, Arden, Farla, you make good points, but I'm the one making the decisions here. And my decision is that we go. No more arguing."

As the session wounded down, all who were present were already preparing to get the Andrastrian army into travelling shape. For better or worse, the Risen Andraste had cast another gamble with the lives of their men and themselves. They prayed very hard to the Maker indeed that night.

Not that Jack was aware of all the consternation passing over her subjects. She was just screaming obscenities at her coy little maidservant for presenting a ridiculous nightgown.

"But milady," The redheaded bard sang playfully. "Sleeping naked is so uncivilized. An empress must appear dignified even in her sleep."

Jack tried to swipe the offending garment away from her servant's outstretched hands, but the woman was always one step faster. "Fucking bitch! I'm not going to wear that silly looking rag!"

Leliana only let a gentle giggle escape from her soft singy throat. Jack couldn't help but smile with her.

* * *

The cavalry rode back from the depths of the wild after another successful skirmish. Many darkspawn raiders had fell from their blades while receiving little in the way of resistance. The infantry that had participated in the small battle had yet to arrive, being on foot and receiving the bulk of the punishment. Still, the battle was another glorious mark to the still developing legend of King Cailan.

Ready servants awaited to help the king dismount and lead away his horse. After receiving a few modest congratulations from his noble allies, the weary king eventually retreated to his personal tent where a steaming bath tub had been prepared. The blond king easily let his steward help him remove his heavy plated armor so he could relax in the soothing warmth. Surrounded in a comfortable embrace, he let the glow of a victorious battle mingle with the pleasant easing of his muscles.

"King Cailan." A rude voice interrupted.

The sudden voice startled the young monarch, making him splutter in his bath. "What in the name of Andraste? Can't you see I'm _occupied_ at the moment!"

The grim armored figure just continued to stride closer without any attempt at looking away. "I have seen you naked a hundred times since you were but a little pup on Maric's lap. There is nothing down there that I haven't seen before."

"My word, Loghain, can't you be any less subtle?"

The king quickly retrieved a towel that his steward brought forward and wrapped it around his waist. Turning sourly towards the even sourer individual, he demanded, "What have you come to say to me now that couldn't wait until I was properly dressed."

The teyrn didn't answer. Instead he retrieved a scroll from his belt and handed it over to the king's wet fingers. Taking it, Cailan absorbed its contents rapidly.

"This is…"

"The final battle plan." Loghain finished. "From our latest scout reports, we have been made aware that the darkspawn numbers are soon approaching the critical mass required to make a direct assault on the fortification. Some reports have also filtered in that mention siege engines, catapults mostly. The fact that they are detected at all signals that their foul leaders are ready to march against us in the coming weeks."

"That's all and well, but.." Studying the schematics and the footnotes closer, he squinted to capture the full detail. "I see you are leaving the Grey Wardens to hold the lower choke point, while leaving your own army to spread around them to surround and pincer the darkspawn host."

Nodding, Loghain took the paper and put it on the table in the candlelight. "Correct, my liege. I intend to withhold the details of this deployment until the very last moment. The treacherous Grey Wardens will then find themselves trapped between the overwhelming darkspawn and our loyal troops. They will have nowhere else to run. Attacked from both sides they will not last long. Duncan's treachery will be avenged with the spilling of these Orlesian puppets' blood."

"And I suppose you want me to approve this battle plan right now so you can make your secret preparations?"

"Do you have a choice?" The teyrn asked sardonically.

Shrugging, the king looked sadly at the scroll. "I suppose not." With his royal seal he stamped the parchment firmly, sealing the fates of the noble Grey Wardens.

'_May my memory of Duncan be retained in this coming madness.'_

* * *

**End Notes: **Nothing much to say, except that I appreciate all the reviews you have taken the time to post. Don't be shy and be as critical as you want. You can even flame me if you want – I've received plenty of it before over my writing career and I always find it a useful indicator what some people _really_ think but are hesitant to express it. That said, it's not a requirement to post a review and it's not that I'm just going to stop writing this fic if there's a lack of response. Out of all my current repertoire of fanfics, this one is the easiest to write. With other fics I have to think weeks or months in advance just to formulate individual scenes and create a coherent vision of a chapter. Here, the lore is easier to cope with (thanks Dragon Age Wiki), and the storyline is sufficiently simple that I can just write from my heart without stopping to contemplate a lot about my decisions.


	8. Witch of the Fucks

November 19, 2010  
Revised: August 3, 2011  
By RahXephon [847246]

**Author's Notes:** I've studied the dates that I've published chapters of all my fics in recent years, and found a rather peculiar observation. It seems the highest frequencies of updates occur whenever there's a quarterly exam period for my university. In a way, it makes sense. Between exam periods and during holidays, I tend to spend the majority of my time reading fiction, playing video games and other relaxing activities. But when the end of the quarter approaches, I am being met with high pressure demands to study for an important exam or finish an important report. Instead of using what available free time I have cramming theory in my head or writing a highly boring essay, I channel all my stress into high-intensity activities that require a lot of effort and concentration.

Writing fiction is one of those high-intensity activities. For some people, creative writing is a leisurely activity, a hobby where you slowly build up a composition. That's not me. The best analogue I can find is running a marathon. You have to prepare and condition your mental state beforehand. When the time comes, you unleash all that energy in a short period of time where all your accumulated hopes and dreams come to fruit. It is a tedious, exhausting and sometimes even excruciating process. Okay, a real marathon is much worse of course, but writing fiction is somewhere halfway.

* * *

_**Dragon Age: Jack Effect**_

_Witch of the Fucks_

* * *

What was the meaning of war? Was the term solely confined to a formalized conflict between nation states? What about within a nation? The proper term would then be called a civil war, Jack supposed, but it was still war. Did war extend any further than that though? There were price wars, gang wars, platform wars and probably a thousand other stupid conflicts. But were they all really wars? Sure, there was something to be won and lost, but was a little competition between two hardware stores really comparable to a struggle of ideals or survival?

Some wars were _wars_, and some wars were 'just' wars. What she was currently engaged in was a real war, where real battles would be fought and where people would really die. Jack was infinitely familiar with such conditions. After all, her entire life had been a struggle. For the most of her life, she had been on the losing side, suffering injury, abuse and treachery. Now though, on this forsaken world of dragons and magic, she was finally coming in her element. For the first time in her life, the roles were reversed and her true calling beckoned. War always ruined her life – now she was embracing it. Whether she was regarded as an outlaw, a pirate or a liberator didn't really matter. Just the violence was enough. Cerberus hadn't fucked up her body to feel pleasure in fights for nothing: she was made to kill.

Now, at the lead of an impressive army, Jack led her army of reavers east from her conquered lands to the thick of the Korcari Wilds. Even the edge of the forest seemed ominous. Already the ever-present mists and half-rotten logs had scared many courageous warriors. Despite the gifts that their enhanced blood bestowed, these men could not utilize them on something tangible. How could you fight your entire environment? The entire forest was their enemy, their torturer at night and tormentor in the day. The mushrooms looked poisonous. Vegetables and fruits were nonexistent. Animals and other game were never present. There were only the howls and wolves and the nagging presence of disease-carrying mosquitoes. Nature itself was twisted in these primordial forgotten lands. Even if all the trees were cut down, the swamps would remain to fester its foul influences on the territory. Nothing could ever be settled here. All in all, it was surprising why Ferelden even bothered to claim this cursed forest.

The landscape also had a penchant on playing tricks on their minds. Scouts sent ahead would ominously fail to report back in the evening, only to appear two or three whole days later. The winding treks through the only dry routes in the marshes were unpredictable. One time they had marched an entire day, only to come up to the same clearing they had camped the night before. Maps were nonexistent. Compass needles were turning wildly. The direction of the sun itself was obscured most of the time by thick banks of fog. The only reason why they knew they were going in the right direction at all was due to the ruins that they came across. Some of them contained clues, such as beaten down paths or direction markers that pointed the way to Ostagar.

The worse part of the journey was that the forests and marshes were too wild for wagons or caravans. There was no way for Jack to hitch a ride on something flat and comfortable, except to be carried on some silly platform held onto the shoulders of her strongest troops. That extravagance went too far even for her. She would have actually walked the entire way if she was given the chance. Sadly, pretty much everyone protested her decision and promptly dumped her on a warhorse. No matter how many times she complained she didn't know how to ride and never would wanted to learn, they all just assumed her experience in her first lifetime would eventually come back. As if. Give her hovercars and bikes any time and she would make the loops. Give her control of a space station and she would crash it into a hanar moon. But a real temperamental horse? No way in hell did she want to ride such a dirty beast. The horrible smell of manure that clung to the black creature alone revolted the biotic.

"Don't let the horse control you. He can tell you are uneasy." Her redheaded maidservant reminded her cheekily. "You have to show him who is in charge."

'_That's easy for you to say on your pretty little docile mare. Why couldn't I trade in my horse for yours?'_

Even though she was suppose to be in charge, she couldn't convince her own people that she didn't want to ride a powerful warhorse. The big destrier she was given might be of the finest breed and all that blablabla, it was also liable to rear and shove Jack from her saddle. Didn't these people care she could break her neck at any time? But no, Kolgrim just gleaned in his eye and told her that she would appreciate the horse once she rode with it in battle. Like all their cavalry mounts, this particular specimen had gone through the Ritual of Revelation and would therefore supposed to be stronger and agile than regular horses. Whatever. The horse didn't certainly act like he was loyal to her. Besides, she never really needed a vehicle to fight her battles and she wasn't about to start now. Giving her a matching sword was just overkill.

"_Milady Andraste," Kolgrim called out as he approached the visibly distressed prophetess as she tried to keep her horse from wandering off. It was a huge embarrassment to her in front of the city gates in sight of pretty much all of her cavalry. Her general smoothly took hold of the reins and calmed the frustrated beast down. "Milady, before we depart, I have one more gift to present you."_

_Practically itching to get off her mount, Jack glared at the man. "If it's anything like this stupid horse then I don't want it."_

"_No, no, milady, it is quite lifeless I assure you." With that he presented a bundle of fine purple silk with both of his hands. Unwrapping the cloth, he revealed a sheathed sword. "I had requisitioned our best weaponsmiths to forge some of our remaining stocks of dragon bone into a functional cavalry sword. You will need it when you ride into battle. A dagger simply doesn't have the reach and trying to lean out to hit someone with it will only put you in more danger."_

"_I don't need it. Fighting on horseback isn't really my thing."_

"_On the contrary, milady, it is a very useful skill to acquire. You will need it in the coming battle. I insist you take it."_

_After a few back and forths, Jack eventually took the hardened black sheath. The sheath was sturdy and like all her affections studded with intricate patterns of gold. The handle itself was devoid of any fancy pommels, being instead a vaguely carved shape of a dragon's head. The grip was likely a plain wrap of leather. Unsheathing it, she came across a cool red blade that gleamed reflectively in the sky. There were no inscriptions, no jewels, no fancy shapes. It was just a slightly curved blade that exemplified efficiency._

"_Alas, we do not have the capacity to imbue your weapon with runes and other enchantments. The dragon bone material itself is quite sufficient however in matching up against other enchanted items. You will not be disappointed."_

Well, it was hardly possible to feel disappointment when you didn't care for the sword in the first place. All this play with horses and swords was all backwards and primitive. One guy with an assault rifle could chew up a platoon of cavalry before they would ever be able to close the distance. Far better to stand in the sidelines and take pot shots out of officers with her M-9 Tempest. She could still enjoy the feel of slaughter from a distance. Getting close in while there wasn't any need to do so was just stupid. So she resolved her sword to stay sheathed on her hip.

After two weeks of wandering in aimless circles, they finally encountered a sight that told them they were close. It was morning, and they had just begun marching an hour ago. Like many others who were forced to sleep under hard and unforgiving soil, Jack was not in the best of moods. Having to go for fourteen days without a bath surrounded by other people who had similarly not had an opportunity to cleanse themselves was a royal pain in the nose. Not that the soldiers were suffering from the apocalypse of stink. No, not at all. Instead, they reveled in the familiar stench of sweat, shit and urine. It was their only fond connection to something that reminded them of home amongst this foreign environment. Thus, clammy with sweat underneath her constricting armor, she mounted her equally foul-tempered mount only to lead it in the wrong direction. Her maidservant had to ride towards her and take charge of the reins for the umpteenth before she could properly lead the march from the front.

Thus, having settled in the boring routine of making sure Normandy (hey, she had to name her horse something) would not turn sharply to the left or right, the clumsy beast had the audacity to stumble. The trained horse righted itself quickly, but not before pitching Jack almost sideways.

"The FUCK!" She let out and tried to pull herself upright from her reins. That only pulled Normandy towards the direction she was tugging at while simultaneously agitating him. It took the help of several minions for her to eventually right herself on her mount. With a irritated look she swatted the back of her stupid horse. That only agitated him further, but she kept her horse from bolting or doing some other stupid action with the help of Leliana.

By then, the morning mist had receded somewhat, revealing for the first time what Normandy actually tripped upon.

The corpse was recently harvested, but exactly how long nobody knew. Flies, bacteria and worms had already been feasting on the lifeless carcass for at least a few days. His equipment was not in much better shape, though if that was due to the recent decay was questionable. The cracked leather it wore was stained with blackened blood, and was as useless as the rest of its possessions. A rusted sword, broken and half-forgotten lay at its side. Even the boots looked like something out of a garbage dump. Not that anyone cared for the dead creature's decrepit equipment. What mattered most was the ghastly white-crusted face whose pointed teeth still curled in a grin.

"Darkspawn…"

To many of those present, it was their first sight of the legendary scourge of Thedas. To Jack, who had only experienced the threat from lofty descriptions and exaggerated drawings in dusty books, it was an eye opener. The hurlock seemed to be nothing more than a human made foul. Even the worst sicknesses in her universe did not compare to the terrible sight that was before her. No wonder that everyone feared the darkspawn. They really _were _monsters. In just that instant, she doubted her plan. Uncertainty marred her previous confidence in being able to strike a deal with this impenetrable race. Free from prejudice, she thought to reason with these beings.

Now, she wasn't quite so sure anymore. Sometimes prejudices were justified. Might this be one of the few cases where that would be true?

Pondering on such questions was detrimental at this point. Jack had already committed her army in a course where darkspawn cooperation – or at least good fortune – would be necessary in achieving a decisive victory over Loghain's host. To retreat after spending two weeks of wandering the wastes of the swamps would weaken people's confidence in her rule and bereft her of another opportunity to crush the Fereldens quickly. Smart or not, the female leader was committed to this perilous path. She had to reach the end.

After that, the army returned to its previous camping spot. Going any further would only risk charging her army headlong into either the darkspawn or Fereldens. It was important for them to remain hidden for their surprise intervention to work. That was why they had cut right through the Korcari Wilds instead of taking the much easier to traverse roads. News must have reached Ostagar by now that the rebel army had left, but if none in the army were traitors, the King wouldn't be able to know they were nearby. To keep it that way, the army had to be camped far enough to avoid immediate detection from Loghain's competent scouts. On the other hand, they also had to be close enough to move in time to bolster the darkspawn's eventual assault on Ostagar.

Careful surveillance was necessary at this point. Kolgrim's reaver scouts combined forces with Eastfrost's rangers to spread out a wide net in each direction. There was a lot of careful thought put in the exact procedure, all adapted from timeless textbooks and proven tradition. Just listening to Kolgrim go on and on about his and Farla's combined protocol bored her ass to stone.

Simply said, Jack couldn't stay put.

She wasn't made for waiting. Riding out to reach only the vicinity of Ostagar had already taken a toll of her tolerance for boredom. Already she had waited an entire day in the camp, until the scouts returned with the latest news. Besides some mention of a lot of darkspawn corpses, there was nothing else they had found out. Neither the darkspawn encampment or the famed fallen fortress of Ostagar had been spotted yet. Already she was groaning at the prospect of waiting another day while the scouts made careful headway in the terrain beyond. She just couldn't stay cooped up any longer. Storming out of her personal tent, she went straight to General Kolgrim as he was on his way to some meeting or another.

"I'm going out."

The former cult leader just blinked, and so did her maidservant. "I beg your pardon?"

"I _said_, I'm going out. Explore the forest. Find some darkspawn or something. Kill some stupid wolves. Find some lost treasure or the other. Doesn't matter, as long as it's not here."

"That would be highly.. irresponsible. The dangers of the Wilds are not exaggerated. Wandering the wilds out of the safety of your men would invite disaster."

"Don't care. I'm not going to change my mind no matter how many times you try to persuade me otherwise. This is something I have to do. I'm just informing you beforehand so you guys won't all panic when you don't find me back at dinner."

At least the bearded warrior knew better by now. He let out a deep breath and looked his mistress with a serious eye. "You will not go alone. Your guard is ready to—"

"No."

"But milady, you will be extremely vulnerable if you go alone!"

"Still no. I don't want a bunch of noisy dumbasses ruin my trip into nature. Besides, hardly anything dwells in the Wilds. It's not like I'm going to look for trouble. I know how to take care of myself. I've been in plenty of jungle planets before."

After some persistent negotiation, Jack agreed to let herself be accompanied by two other servants, but no more. And no, she wasn't going on horseback. That would really ruin her day.

After readying her kit, Jack left her tent to encounter her escort.

"Our finest greetings, milady Andraste. It is a pleasure to meet in person." The first was a solid looking warrior equipped in modest scale mail armor. His cocky smile, rugged face and ponytailed hair made quite a handsome expression. "If you are wondering who this obscenely charming figure is, wait no more. I am Paedan, bounty hunter extraordinaire! Perhaps you would like to hear about my latest accomplishments? It will astound your mind, I am sure!"

A small fist knocked the man off its stride! "Shaevra! I was just on a roll!"

The woman next to Paedan huffed indignantly. "I'm Shaevra, milady. I am also a bounty hunter, and alas Paedan's partner."

Now _she_ was a piece of work, Jack thought. Shaevra was a brunette elf who was even shorter than Jack. Unlike those docile servants, this woman looked like she could handle herself on the streets where she had likely came from. Contrasting herself from the ragged elves even more was her impressive set of armor. It must have been hard to find a steel chevalier chest plate for a woman of her size, let alone the gauntlets and greaves. Her armored skirt was especially impressive and stylish. For a moment, Jack was intensely jealous of the elf's flamboyant outfit. Her own dragon hide armor looked plain and muddy in comparison.

"You two are my escorts?"

"Correct, milady." Shaevra answered before Paedan could, bumping her elbow against his side for good measure. "General Kolgrim has selected us himself."

That was strange. From the looks and sounds of this pair, they were definitely not career soldiers. Jack didn't know how respected bounty hunting was on this world, but if it was anything like what Zaeed Massani practiced, they must be real badasses. It took more than skill and guts to become a bounty hunter and live long enough to be successful. But out of all the competent soldiers in his army, why did Kolgrim pick these two nutballs? Maybe she should just ask.

"Do you know why Kolgrim assigned you to this task?"

"We may not look like it, but we have gone through the Korcari Wilds before." Paedan replied emphatically. "Some bounty thought to lose us in the depths of the Wilds. Poor wolves tore him up. It was a simple process of fixing up his mangled head and present it to the issuing lord."

"That's all?"

"Well, we also excel in unfamiliar environments. From the darkest depths of the Deep Roads to the furthest heights of the Frostback Mountains, no corner of Ferelden has remained unexplored from our determined resolve!"

Great. They may be as badass as Zaeed, but the guy half of the pair was as clownish as Joker. At least the elf would keep the idiot in line. Shaevra really looked like she could grind a steel bar. Jack could respect a bitch like her. They shared a discrete look and nodded at each other. They understood.

"You two will do." Jack eventually concluded. "Let's go."

The trio started to go to the eastern edge of the camp, passing many onlookers along the way. They were all curious what their lady was doing, unaware that she was venturing out in the Wilds. No one else was even seeing her out.

Except for Leliana.

"Milady," She began, bowing her head and holding something familiar in her hands. "You forgot your sword."

"I don't need it." Jack replied tersely, shouldering past the red-robed servant. "I'm better with a knife."

Moving towards the thick of the woods, she sensed that wasn't the end of it. Whirling around, she came across the sight of her two escorts _plus_ her annoyingly persistent servant. "Leliana? What the fuck are you doing?"

"Accompanying you. What else?"

"If you didn't know, I'm not going to some prissy tea party. I'm going to scout the lands beyond and likely face a lot of danger. Don't you have better things to do?"

The maidservant wasn't deterred at all, seeing as her sly smile continued to stay plastered on her face. "Milady, you underestimate the strength of courtesans. I am not unfamiliar with a stroll or two." Jerking the hunting bow strapped to her back, she winked her eye. "And in my earlier years I have had to hunt my share of rabbits. I will not be a liability, I promise."

Just what Jack needed, another princess who thought she could play at war. "Look, your loyalty is admiring and all, but I don't want to make my trip a circus. The key is to stay stealthy and undetected. I can't hardly achieve that if you come with me in your bright red robes and your noisy.. eh…"

Her words trailed off as Leliana unbuttoned her Visionary robes, revealing the studded leather armor she wore underneath. Suddenly, Jack's ditzy maid didn't look so ditzy anymore.

That didn't mean the Orlesian broad would be worse than useless in a fight. "Just because you found some fitting armor doesn't make you a fighter. So you can kill a few fluffy rabbits. What about wolves? Or darkspawn? Do you have the killing instinct that you need to survive out there? Huh?"

The girl didn't respond, but stared defiantly, like a little girl nagging for her favorite toy. "You'll have to kill me before I stop following you."

"Oh yeah?" Cracking her knuckles, Jack stomped closer to her defiant servant. "Is that so?" She leaned into the redhead's personal space, inadvertently smelling the fragrant blossomy perfume. "Maybe I'll just break your legs and leave you here to rot. How's that?"

"You'll have to try." Leliana finally responded, raising her pointy chin to her liegelady on purpose.

It was incredibly insulting, especially so because Jack was just a bit shorter. The unstable biotic felt like her height was being mocked.

She couldn't let it stand.

Blam!

Jack's fist decked the cheeky servant in the eye, knocking the Orlesian bitch against the moist ground. Leliana let out an abrupt cry when she was hit, but stayed determinately silent as she tried to recover. Already a nasty black eye was forming.

Punching the bitch felt good. Turning around, she let her two bewildered escorts fall in line.

Only… Jack felt that her nagging feeling hadn't disappeared yet. Turning back, she saw Leliana limping along behind her, still clutching the cavalry sword to her chest.

"Fucking hell. Are you asking to be beat up?"

"If.. if that's what it takes.."

Oh the annoyed empress really wished she could let herself go. Her clenching fist already trembled in anticipation. But… she didn't really feel like it. Already loads of time had been wasted, and for what? A disobedient bitch? It wasn't worth it. Abusing someone weak was always the lowest form of violence. Even an ex-pirate such as her wouldn't stoop so low.

"Tch. Fine, if you really want to tag along, you may. Just don't babble like you usually do. We need to stay hidden."

And with that, the foursome left to explore the secrets of the Korcari Wilds.

* * *

The trip was just what Jack had needed to rid herself from the boredom and fatigue that had piled up in her body. All the soreness from riding that friggin' saddle receded into dullness as she began to appreciate the Wilds in a more serene circumstance. Without the bustle of fifteen hundred soldiers, she could actually express herself the way she wanted to. It was absolutely liberating.

Her three followers weren't that bad either. The ex-bounty hunters were quite used to rough terrain and made good pace. Surprisingly though, despite being an elf, Shaevra knew almost nothing of the plants and trees, and wasn't in tune with nature like a stereotypical fantasy elf. The diminutive woman was a city dweller through and through. Instead, Paedan was the one to count for herbal lore. He pointed out obscure weeds that were used as ingredients in healing potions, as well as poisonous mushrooms that could be ground into a paste that could be coated on a blade. He really was a useful companion when he didn't open his trap to spout corny pickup lines at Jack and Leliana.

'_Speaking of that bitch, she's doing quite well keeping up.'_

Expecting the Orlesian tramp to be pampered into softness, the maidservant broke expectations when she didn't seem to tire even after trekking marshy terrain. If she seemed winded, it was only when the others were exerting themselves as well.

Laughing it off, Leliana only added, "My Orlesian ladies were the most horrible taskmasters. You can't imagine how much dirty laundry I had to haul all the way up and down the castles. Gave me quite some strength, that indeed."

With a bow strapped to her back and a cavalry sword to her waist, the Orlesian looked quite the part of a soldier. Whether that solid image would still hold up at the first sign of trouble remained to be seen. If a wolf somehow snapped her neck, it wouldn't be anyone else's fault.

In their journey, they observed many things previously unnoticed. They sighted twisted trees, or ruins of an ancient empire. They saw marks that Paedan described as Chasind trails. There were even the odd tombstones scattered here and there. Rumor was that they were haunted, so the group stayed well away from those. Here and there past corpses of darkspawn or Ferelden soldiers were scattered around, most already decomposed into a stinking pile of bone and goo or something. Paedan would volunteer to check the carcasses for any personal effects that would give a clue of who they were or what their mission was. There was even the corpse of a drowned missionary still floating in the swampy water that had killed the poor fellow.

After a few hours of trekking, they finally hit gold. Lo and behold, they came across a Ferelden.

"Please… help me." The wretched man wailed as he clutched his mangled leg. "The wolves… they slaughtered my squad… I'm left alone."

"I have some bandages in my pack." Leliana volunteered, waiting for permission to treat the soldier.

Seconds passed as Jack contemplated the decision, then reluctantly gave the OK. As her servant worked to sterilize the wound, she ordered her escort to stay on guard for wolves or other threats while she bent down to the man to face him closer. Withdrawing her dagger, she slit a tiny portion of her thumb, then took hold of the soldier's jaw and smeared the blood on his tongue.

"Drink." Jack ordered as she shut the man's mouth.

His eyes promptly rolled inwards as his body trembled from the stress of changes. Paedan and Shaevra didn't even bat an eye, having experienced the Ritual themselves, but Leliana made a tiny intake of breath before going back to work on the wound.

After a long enough pause, the man looked to recover. Jack set out to question him. "What's your name?"

"Dirk. Just Dirk."

"What were you doing out here in the Wilds with your fellow pals?"

"We were the King's Scouts.. sent to the lands to the south to track the darkspawn progress. Teyrn Loghain was concerned how fast their siege engines were approaching Ostagar. Fine job we did.. wolves caught us by surprise… practically at the doorstep of Ostagar."

That caught Jack's attention. "Ostagar is nearby?"

"Yeah.. an hour's walk to the north." Dirk looked puzzled at the group. "You are not part of Loghain's army?"

"No. But are you?"

A few seconds passed by as the man's reflexive response halted in place. Finally, his eyes glazed over, and answered, "My life is yours, Great One."

Smirking, Jack pulled back, letting the wounded man crawl back up with his slowly enhancing strength. "Since you're a King's Scout, I'm sure you know the best way to sneak close to Ostagar and take a look at their defenses without being spotted by Loghain's men. Would you care to take us?"

"Of course, Great One. I shall lead the way."

And lead he did, albit somewhat slow on the account of his wounds. Despite his limping form and his recent failure, he was still an excellent outdoorsman. He spotted trails no one else could see and made sure the group left minimal tracks behind. They stayed close to foliage and shadows the closer they approached the camp site, avoiding the increasingly regular patrols. Whoever this Loghain was, he seemed almost paranoid in his zeal to post sentries in every direction. They coordinated amongst themselves as well. The sentries communicated with each other regularly and rotated amongst themselves. The picket lines were in continuous motion and it was hard to find a pattern to exploit. It required the distraction of Dirk to talk up one of the sentries for Jack and the rest to climb up a hill that would provide a high vantage point.

As they ascended over the last rise, the land opened up to them. They saw rolling green hills and mountains, some dense with trees, others sparse with The ruins of Ostagar was in full view, from its impressive bridge to its enduring tower. In and around it were rows upon rows of tents, with tiny specks of movement in between. The sheer amount of tents in the camp reminded Jack of cockroaches – there were just so many.

"Dirk.. how many soldiers?"

"At least fifteen arls have joined their banners under Teyrn Loghain. Their numbers vary from the size and wealth of their territories, but at the least they would have all brought the minimum of five hundred for a war host. Likely they brought more to impress their peers."

"I asked how many. Answer me."

"More than eight thousand, less than twelve thousand."

"So that's just about ten thousand, as we had guessed." Jack muttered, aware that knowing and seeing were not the same things. The enemy's numbers were quite impressive. Even with her magic and every other trick in the book, she would be hard pressed to even the odds. Another handicap was that Ostagar was built on a strategically defensible position. The fortress itself was built on a steep hill, and the lands around formed natural chokepoints or cover. There would be no way to sneak close. Several streams watered the surroundings, so even if she was able to sneak in some blood, it would have a marginal effect to an army of that size. Repeating the same card wouldn't work.

It was all down to the darkspawn then. After Leliana made a fair sketch of the lands, they retreated back down the hill and past the sentries. Some big dog began to bark on the way, but Dirk was able to defuse any trouble by chatting up the handler. Eventually, they reached the same site where Dirk's former companions lay.

"Well, Dirk, you've been a great help." Jack clapped the man in the shoulder before sticking her dagger in his kidney. "I've no need for your services now."

"Was that necessary?" Shaevra asked, seemingly not out of regard for a human life but more out of practical use. "He could have guided us to the darkspawn."

Cleaning her blade, Jack spat at the bleeding corpse. "The idiot got himself killed this close to Ostagar. We don't need him now we've seen the enemy."

"Glad I'm not that poor sucker." Paedan finished, then went to trail Jack alongside his partner. Only Leliana stayed behind before she realized she had to come as well.

They traversed back to the west, in the direction of their hidden camp. Though Jack was tempted to venture south and look for the darkspawn as well, the hour was darkening. Soon it would be dark, and she did not relish spending the night with just the four of them. Not that her companions weren't any help. The bounty hunters were a refreshing mark of change from the boringly zealous reavers from Haven. Unlike those reclusive hermit warriors, Shaevra and Paedan had experienced their entire lives in hardship and adventure. Even Leliana's tale of her journey through Orlais was mildly refreshing. All the banter lightened Jack's spirit and distracted her from the difficulties ahead.

Throughout the stories, Jack became more curious about the bounty hunters. They weren't from Haven, but neither were they part of Sturnberg's army. How did they end up in her retinue?

"Oh Shaevra and I were just in the neighboring province when the news spread about your stunning victory against Arl Saramond's army." Paedan looked wistfully in the sky. "We were hunting this bloke who double-crossed our previous employer, some nasty arl named How or another. When I realized the entire region would be plunged into instability, I just wanted to get the heck out of the way. And I tried, really, but my little partner wouldn't let me."

The female elf kicked a foot against his shin.

"Ouch!"

"I told you a million times already, don't call me little." Turning to Jack, she continued the story. "What Paedan says is true, milady. We were contracted to do a job. If we cancelled on that bounty, we would have suffered from the loss of reputation. I wasn't going to let some small rebellion let our prey slip away."

Her partner picked up the thread again. "So, we followed this target's trail for weeks as he slunk through several smalltime villages. Guy was a sneaky fellow, alright, warned the villagers that the 'big human oaf and the sly elfie' would be bloodthirsty bandits and all. Gave us no end of trouble. Well, we stuck to his trail and followed it straight into Eastfrost. By then we were seeing these red-robed fellows preaching their gospel and such. Scared the crap out of me. So when we finally got the fellow's head, I just wanted to get out of the province in the very same night. Problem was, Shaevra didn't want to go. Totally mesmerized she was, with the starry eyes and all."

"You just didn't appreciate our lady's wisdom." The elf even deigned to smile a little to Jack. "Your words just made a lot of sense. When I grew up in Denerim, I was faced with the worst of human behavior. It was a never ending torture and there was no one there to help us. You just had to steal or kill your way for your next meal, while the humans all had it good. It was a disgusting world. I just felt like you were the only one who understood us. The greed, the corruption, and above all the Chantry who did nothing for us, it all made sense. The only way elves like me could gain true justice was to force it down the throats of bastards like them. The rest was easy since your men were taking in volunteers. Gaining your strength after going through the Ritual was the best moment of my life. I felt I could take on all my childhood demons. If all the elves had such strength in the first place, we would have never been reduced to the slaves we are today. Now I can show you humans what our heritage is worth."

So these guys actually volunteered to join Jack's cause. It took the biotic aback, if only a little. When she mixed all that social justice and equality bullshit in her made-up religion, she never intended to be sincere about it. She just knew how suffocating medieval society could be. Bringing in fresh ideas that would empower the lowest forms of dirt was just an easy way to keep the masses occupied while she went ahead with more important things. But to hear Shaevra go on passionately about the abuses she endured in Denerim and how that would all change, Jack felt that perhaps, she may have been more helpful than she thought.

Elves had it bad. Jack never really visualized how bad, having only seen a few docile servants.

To hear they were beaten, exploited, confined and even reduced to playthings for nobles was horrifying to hear. It reminded her much of her own sordid past. When Jack was still young, she often wished she lived in a world she wouldn't be forced to endure daily torture. It was too late now, but to hear the same kind of practices continued on this strange but similar world, she felt a responsibility to prevent the elves to share the same fate as hers and Shaevra's.

The little lesson was another reminder of how fucked up this world really was. The existence of demons and magic made belief into an all-powerful god more plausible, and it was natural that people would flock to the Chantry. The pervasive institution wasn't even that all bad, besides its obsessive need to convert the entire planet with its beliefs. Its templars did help out fight off demon possession, and the paranoia against mages were to a certain degree justified. If Jack wasn't personally targeted by the bigoted templars, she would have left them well enough alone. As it was, they were the ones who started the fight. Jack was just responding in kind.

"This planet suffered under the Chantry for too long." The outlander finally spoke. "They had their chance to fix up their act, but they threw it away."

"And now I get to kill all those human bastards." Shaevra added with a sinister grin. "I'm going to cut up their balls and stuff them in their mouths. All the Chantry bitches can get their tits hacked off."

Her fellow bounty hunter almost stumbled in his steps. "Hey there, Shaev, don't get all riled up. You know it doesn't make me comfortable when you're in that mood."

"Oh just stuff it. You don't understand since you're just a lowly human."

"That's not fair. Our lady here is human as well."

"She's done more to elves than anyone else of her race. She's the most elvish human that has ever existed." With a strong gaze, Shaevra lowered herself on her knees and draped her hands on Jack's boots, to everyone's surprise. "I would do anything for you milady. A thousand of my lives could never compare to the two you have lived on Thedas."

Feeling a little uncomfortable, Jack lifted the elf back up her feet. "There's no need for this stuff. We're still in hostile territory. Save the hero worship for later."

Swiveling on her feet, she led the way back home. The group carefully advanced through the forest, tracing their paths as best as they could. A few more darkspawn bands were scattered here and there, but they were sufficiently noisy and smelly enough to be avoided. All the caution did slow them down however, and by the time Jack thought she had reached halfway the sun had already dipped under the horizon. The darkness crept up to them in silent death. Suddenly, they couldn't see past their noses anymore.

"Fuck… anyone got a torch or something?"

The only male in the group answered back. "I have… but are you sure you want to light it up? It will draw a lot of attention, which we might not want at the moment."

"What are we suppose to do then?"

"We should find a dry clearing and make for camp, milady. The Wilds is too dangerous a place to venture in the night."

"... Alright. Guess there's nothing to it."

So with the tiny sliver of moonlight as a guide, they found a low hill that functioned well enough. None of them had brought sleeping gear with them, having not anticipated being out so long. Everyone just swept the rotting leaves away as best as they could and make themselves comfortable against the cooling soil. It wasn't anything like the luxurious beds that Jack had slept in ever since she made herself a ruler, but she had slept on harsher surfaces before. In a way, it felt just like home.

Since dangers still lurked, a watch rotation was scheduled. Leliana would take the first watch, then Paedan, and Shaevra as last. No one dared to suggest Jack should lose some sleep. She was tempted to volunteer herself just for the heck of it, but then realized that having all four people stay awake for short periods in the night wouldn't be too healthy. There was no telling when her strength was needed next. She had to get all the beauty sleep she could get.

So, with a bundle of cloth as her pillow, the biotic stranger calmed herself to sleep.

The Wilds stayed silent. Too silent.

* * *

_The skies burned red with fire. The earth broke with awesome force. Black volcanic rock plunged back in the depths it came from. Fire was everywhere. Chaos was ever-present. Life was nowhere to be seen. This was the realm of the ancient, the primal forces which had shaped the planet since the very beginning. The very cycle of formation and destruction had an enchanting quality to it, like watching looping footage of a space station crash against the surface of a moon. Even the greatest painters and the most gifted wordsmiths could never hope to forge a masterpiece that was the evolution of a world. The single yellow sun kept its radiant eye on the infant world, nurturing the ball of rock with its embracing heat. Radiation of every spectrum bombarded the crusted surface, irradiating rock and other elements. The poison spread throughout the surface. But was it really a force of ill? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it was just inconsequential. Or maybe it was the key to life._

_After fire, came water. After water, air. After air, life._

_Why?_

_Why not?_

_Life was a purpose onto itself. To live was to live. To not live was to be irrelevant. But could living beings be irrelevant as well?_

_Maybe, maybe not._

_A light shone from above, illuminating an empty patch of space._

_One moment, nothing._

_Another moment, a person. From the looks of it, the effects of magic were evident. Enchanted robes, an ornate staff, even a few majestic magic rings. On that black-haired person's head was also a crown of silver. No jewels studded its ancient surface, but a shaped protrusion extended outwards from the front. The reptilian head was magnificently carved, from the crooked teeth to the empty eye sockets. The person then blinked his empty eyes and pointed forward._

_Another light had activated._

_It was the same person. The flowing purple robe was patterned with the same golden inlays. The rings hadn't lost their shine. But the person changed. Once a magnificent sorcerer, the creature was nothing but a monster. Shriveled skin and demonic eyes marred its once beautiful skin. Purple ooze leaked from its hungry mouth, pointed teeth eager for flesh. Nothing remained of whatever humanity it once had. Its existence exemplified humanity's greed._

_Not that it showed any of those thoughts. The light on the creature began to shift, melding itself in different shades. The light tried to hold itself in radiant gold, but eldritch purple overpowered it soon after. The darkspawn collapsed._

_In its place appeared the head of a dragon more terrible and beautiful than any other living creature. It held the power of life and death, of plague and immortality, of the very threads of shadow. Its glowing eyes absorbed more than light, more than time. There was power in its being. Corrupting power._

* * *

Jack woke up feeling groggy and fatigued. That wasn't unusual per se. Ever since she ventured into the Wilds, she was haunted by visions of unexplainable sights. Maybe it was all the rotting plants, or the climate, or just something of the planet itself. Heck knows if the planet contained some alien germs that her up-to-date immunity couldn't handle. Then again, she had landed on countless of unterraformed worlds hunting mercs or other scum, so it probably wasn't that big of a deal. Still, even a small change from the standard Terran composition of air could induce long-term changes to the humans breathing it. Not that Jack knew anything about all that scientific wizardry. She wasn't a rocket scientist. If only she had her omni-tool.

'_Where the hell did it go?'_

Her rather cold arrival on this planet had turned her mind on other matters than whether her omni-tool was still in place. Now though, she missed the stupid device. Its orange display could tell her everything from the exact composition of the air, to the molecular array of her dagger. Its databases held a wealth of useful information. She could study the ancient tactics of Caesar, or retrieve the formula for gunpowder. Recalling Newton's laws or the basics of Quantum Mechanics was a cinch. Furthermore, its miniature fabricator could assemble replacement parts for her guns or create other small devices that would have been at least five hundred years better than the most sophisticated tool on this planet. Everything she really needed to thrive on this world was on that little wonder tool.

'_Oh well, wherever it is, I can always get another one when I'm back in Citadel space.'_

Though the task seemed insurmountable, Jack stubbornly held on to the thought she could return. No matter what that Guardian in the Haven Sanctum had said about impossibilities, even spirits weren't omniscient. It mattered not if she had to tear up the entire world to find the truth. What was she thinking, she was already doing that. If she couldn't find a way from the Fereldens, she would raze through Orlais. If the answers weren't there either, she would sweep northwards until the very towers of the Tevinter Imperium would collapse. She would not rest until every book has been read and every goddamn stone had been turned. All that crap about helping the poor and downtrodden was just a means to an end. Her end.

But first, she needed to head back to her army.

Turning around, Jack lifted the smelly woolen cloak she had been using as a blanket from her head to come up with an unexpected sight.

"Why hello dear. Did you have a good night's sleep?" The strange woman asked as she leveraged herself up on her feet with her crooked staff. She had been resting on the backside of Paedan's sleeping form.

Recognizing danger, Jack jumped from her comfortable perch and pounded her glowing fist in the ground. A shockwave expanded from the epicenter, shaking the earth and throwing off everything that rested against its surface. The unconscious forms of her entourage were flung away, but did not wake up from the disruption. As for the witch herself, she simply smirked as she morphed her entire body into a crow and lift up in the sky.

"Fucking bitch, what did you do to my friends!"

"Your friends? Nothing much, I assure you." The crow answered back as it lazily circled the camping site.

Rummaging through her pack, Jack finally retrieved her shotgun. As she aimed the weapon at the creature, the black bird morphed back into her human form and turned her body to stone as she fell. The shotgun pellets struck off a lot of chips from the stone, earning a pained cry. Before the living stone could crush Jack's form though, the biotic threw out a push, managing to deflect the witch off a tree.

"Turn them back!" Jack cried as she pumped her shotgun and let it rip again. "Stay still you skank!"

"There's nothing wrong with them!" The witch called back as she elegantly danced from the pellets that tore the bark off the tree behind her. With her staff she conjured another spell. The light hit Jack before she could react.

"The fuck? What did you do to me?"

"Something to calm you, my dear. You really do need to treat your guests better."

Her next shotgun blast landed wildly off the mark. Taking the time to steady herself this time, Jack fired when the witch tried to reach a tree branch.

It missed again.

She fired away until her thermal clip was red hot. No matter how much she tried to steady herself, her aim always went wild.

"….Rhgh.. What's with all that noise?"

Pausing, Jack glanced back to see Paedan finally waking himself up. It seemed that whatever affected him had also worn off on Leliana and Shaevra, who also came back from their rest.

"There, nothing's the matter." The black-haired intruder spoke calmly as she turned her flesh back to stone. "Merely a little game, just for fun you know."

"Well there's nothing funny about this magic shit." Jack spat back as she dropped her useless shotgun. Her fists were glowing with rage as she stomped towards the mage. "Who are you with? Are you a circle mage? Or some Grey Warden doll? Answer me!"

"Milady, don't!" Leliana called from behind. The servant ran at her enraged master without any care for herself and grabbed Jack's shoulder. "This woman is the Witch of the Wilds! She's too powerful!"

"She'll be the Witch of the Broken Skull when I'm through with her."

"No!"

While Jack tried to advance, Leliana held her body back. Jack tried to dislodge the woman from her body without causing too much harm. Her elbows cracked at Leliana's ribs, but still the girl held on. Eventually Paedan and Shaevra arrived to help Leliana subdue their master.

"Let me go you fucking idiots!"

"It's the Witch of the Wilds, milady. You can't!"

After a minute of furious tugging, Jack began to tire. Leliana held her neck in a choking grip, while the bounty hunters held both of her arms. They had managed to push her against the dirty soil, where she couldn't do much else to lodge herself away. She didn't know what all the fuss was about with this so-called Witch of the Wilds. Rumors and legends were often bullshit. Jack herself was the victim of such wild talk. The only thing that mattered to her at that moment was that this bitch dared to mess around with her. No one messed with her. If she had to expend all her clips or use up all her reserves to kill the smirking mage she would do it. That fucking hag looked too much like Miranda. The temptation to mess up that pretty face was strong in Jack's desires.

Still trying to cut off her master's air, Leliana tried to plea reason again. "This forest is her domain. If we harm her, the Wilds might turn against us. Think of your army!"

Slowly, her bloodlust faded. It wasn't as much due to her subordinates' desperate pleas but due to the fact that Jack's body was subdued. The only way she could shrug them off was by using biotics, and she wasn't that gone yet to go that far. So she held herself still, waiting for the others to realize she wasn't going to go off and do something reckless. They loosened their holds, letting her climb up on her feet.

The black-haired witch had been observing the scuffle patiently. "If you had actually let me talk before you went off on me, you would have realized I had no intentions of harming you."

"Yeah right." Jack muttered, but didn't attempt anything else. "So what do you want, bitch? "

"Oh nothing much, I assure you. And the name's Morrigan." The woman bowed mockingly. "My mother sent me to invite you for a friendly talk."

"What for?" Jack answered back cautiously. "Is your 'mother' the Witch of the Wilds?"

"Oh, my mother is known for many things."

"Like what?"

"Well, a few tricks and enchantments here and there. She lived in this forest for an awfully long time, you know. What would be the harm?"

"Are there any others with you?"

"Not that I know." The witch smiled sardonically as she pondered the question. "I'm sure that I'm not her _only_ daughter, but whatever siblings I have are far removed. It's just me and my mother."

After a minute of weighing in the options, Jack came to a decision. "Alright, we'll go."

"Not quite." Morrigan said, pointing her black nails towards the three companions. "My mother only invited you, the Risen Andraste. Your guard dogs aren't welcome."

That put a little bone in her decision. If she went on alone, there was no telling what could happen. Still, it wasn't as if she was defenseless. Jack was still a powerful biotic, and she was sure she could face off against a single mage, no matter how legendary she was. Besides, she was curious herself about this Witch of the Wilds. If this Morrigan girl could have put them all to sleep, they could have been dead already if this Witch had wished. That they were still alive meant there was probably no ill intent. Probably.

"Paedan, Shaevra, Leliana, go back. Make for the camp and inform Kolgrim or whoever the fuck's in charge about this."

"But milady, is that wise? The Witch is very feared for a reason."

"You're right." Jack responded as she clipped her weapons on her back. Her teeth grinned in the morning mist. "But you know, in my world, I was feared as well."

They eventually parted after a few words in between. Paedan led the remaining girls back to the west, while Jack followed Morrigan's leisurely pace to the southeast. No conversation flowed between them. Jack had tried to ask how old Morrigan was or what kind of magic she could perform, but the girl was wily in her responses. Always mocking, always toying, sometimes even sarcastic. Whatever Jack tried to say, Morrigan deflected it. It was frustrating that in over two hours of conversation, she still knew nothing of the scantily-clad witch.

Their paths led them through overgrown vines and dried-up swamps. They made good speed, though it was a wonder how Morrigan could handle the tough terrain all day without destroying her feet. Eventually, they reached a small wooden shack.

The old woman stirring a cauldron looked up and smiled in the same sardonic manner as her daughter. "Welcome to my humble abode. I hope my errant charge has not playing too many tricks on you?"

"Could have been worse. So you're the Witch of the Wilds? I expected…"

"Me? Oh just call me Flemeth. Witch of the Wilds is such a handful, and a dreadful title to boot." The grimy looking woman motioned for Morrigan and handed the young woman the ladle. "Keep stirring girl while I attend to our guest."

The witch approached slowly, as if she had to contend with a crooked back and atrophied joints. Her long grey hair was matted with sweat and grime, as if she hadn't showered in months. Her robes were elegant fifty years ago but now looked nothing but something fished out of a dumpster. If this is the dreaded and renowned Witch of the Wilds, who would have known how much the people in Council Space thought about Jack.

"I have been awaiting for your arrival ever since you and your little band of troops trampled in my lands."

"Your lands? So you're the queen or something around here?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. My crown is rather lacking at the moment." Gesturing towards the bubbling pot, Flemeth asked, "Would you like to try some of my stew?"

One look at the sickly green shade was enough. "No thanks. Just tell me what I'm here for."

"You're here 'for' nothing, whelp." Flemeth spat back. Then, with surprising guile, the old woman snapped her wrinkled fingers onto Jack's hand. The witch felt up the skin, studied the arteries, and who knew what else.

Ripping back her arm, Jack backed up to put some distance in between. "Don't touch me!"

"My, my, sensitive are you." The old witch taunted, but turned back towards the cauldron. "But I've seen enough."

As if nothing had happened, Flemeth calmly let Morrigan pour some of the green bile in a wooden bowl. Taking a sturdy spoon, Flemeth slowly began to eat her stew. Morrigan filled up her own bowl and went at her meal with gusto.

"So what, that's all?" Jack inquired confused. "I spent the entire morning hiking all the way to this dump and it was all so you could grope my arm?"

The two witches didn't answer back.

Disgusted, Jack stomped back the way she came, determined to get out of their presence. This whole trip was nothing but a waste of time. The notorious Witch of the Wilds was nothing but an old crooked hag, and her daughter was not much better. So what if they were steeped in the Korcari Wilds? Morrigan's magic was strange and unpredictable, but Jack was sure she could overpower the smug Miranda-lookalike with pure brute force.

The two apostates took no notice of their guest's abrupt leave. Only when Morrigan finish first did she began to speak again.

"So mother, has your curiosity been sated? Is she the true reincarnation of Andraste?"

"Hmph. I did not need to see that little whelp in person to confirm my suspicions. I was only rather curious of her glow. It feels.. different."

"How so, mother?"

"Different.. beckoning.."

"That woman did seem to possess strange magic. It was blue in aura but worked on pure force. How very strange. Have you seen anything like it before?"

"I have seen many things, young child. You should not obsess over every new experience. I haven't raised you to be a frightful kitten."

"As you say, mother."

Despite Flemeth's off-handedness, Morrigan could still detect the steely gaze her mother sent to the bald-haired rebel. There was something about that woman that interested her mother greatly. And if mother was interested, so was she. Ever since she was 'raised' by Flemeth, her mother never really tormented any occasional visitors to the Wilds like she used to in the stories. Only those who sought them such as the templars would Flemeth concern herself, but no one else was worth their notice. Not even the darkspawn of King Cailan was of any note. The outside world didn't seem to matter anymore.

Except for this Andraste.

However much Flemeth sought to act otherwise, Morrigan knew she would be keeping an eye on this bald-haired woman. That power, those weapons, they were all delightfully outlandish. It would be interesting to see them in action.

"So dear mother," Morrigan started casually. "Are you looking forward to that little battle our interlopers are determined to fight?"

"Watching men clubbing each other in the heads is something I've seen far too much already. I couldn't care less which side wins."

"Is that so?"

The young sorceress wasn't sure who was more interested in the outcome of the upcoming battle. Not since the Orlesian occupation and its subsequent defeat did the world stood poised to change. Having been cooped up in the drab environment of the Wilds all her life, this singular event was the most exciting event she would ever have the pleasure to witness in person.

Besides, Morrigan didn't believe for an instant Flemeth would keep herself from interfering. The only question was who her mother would favor.

She hoped it would be the rebels. Anything else was too boring. The world was long overdue for some much-needed change.

* * *

**End Notes:** Nothing much happening in this chapter, I know. Anyway, Dragon Age 2 is coming out early next year. I'm eagerly looking forward to playing it and incorporating its story in this fic. I heard that Flemeth would be making an appearance again. The only problem is that I'm going to study abroad in Beijing the next semester. I can't bring my powerful desktop computer with me obviously, so I'll have to buy a laptop. The problem is that I really abhor regular-sized laptops. A lightweight portable netbook is like four more times portable (save for an iPad), and it's usually cheaper as well. But with such a small screen and weak specifications, running Dragon Age 2 on that computer probably is probably a nonstarter.


	9. Fucking up the plans

August 6, 2011  
By RahXephon [847246]

**Author's Notes: **I'm changing the default chapter sizes of this fic and all my other fics from 10k words to 5k words because 10k is just too massive. My experience with _The Star Empire_ showed me that a larger chapter didn't necessarily equate to better quality. While chapters that are very short do have a negative on immersion, any gains will quickly level off when you reach to about 2000-3000 words depending on the type of fic you're writing. In some cases, oversized chapters are actually a detriment to reading experience. It is hard to determine the optimum chapter size, and it really depends on many other factors such as whether it's on paper or digital, or what the purpose a chapter is supposed to fulfill.

In any case, the most important benefit to shorter chapter sizes is that the threshold of writing an update is significantly lower. This is rather difficult for non-writers to understand, but it is like this. When you start an ongoing fic on FFN, you are basically committing a portion of your time to serve your audience of readers. When a fic grows to become something special, that psychological commitment grows larger and the demands placed upon you will also grow in turn. This means that once I pause in a fic to focus on other things, it is hard to pick up the thread because I have a massive amount of content to write after months of hiatus, which is not easy to do if you want to maintain the same standards. I think this pressure is rather similar to the ones placed upon film producers and directors who are tasked to create a sequel to a successful franchise. You might be able to pull it off and earn a lot of accolades, or you might screw up horribly and end up with something like the fourth Indiana Jones movie. You do not want to be confronted with such a failure.

* * *

_**Dragon Age: Jack Effect**_

_Fucking up the plans_

* * *

Over the next two weeks Jack's army stayed out of sight. There was nothing else to do but wait for the darkspawn to begin their attack. Despite the Havenites' sizeable army, they were well out of the way from the coming horde of savages. Loghain's forces were just as blind to the reaver threat. The Fereldens were keeping their eye to the south, leaving a gaping blind spot to the north of Ostagar. The main roads were well guarded and well traveled, but that still left many leagues of unattended territory.

The reputation of the Korcari Wilds worked to the rebels' benefit. Heck, even her reavers were too scared to venture far. Only the most level-headed scouts were allowed to observe the preparations at Ostagar and keep an eye on the lands to the south.

Though Jack's scouts were skilled and experienced, they were not as familiar with the Wilds as their Ferelden counterparts. Her reaver scouts were occasionally detected by other Ferelden scouts loyal to the king. The consequences were usually mild though. The King's Scouts did not realize they were dealing with rebels, and usually presumed that the reaver scouts were some other noble's vassals. The only human soldier who remained in the area around Ostagar were all there to fight the darkspawn, not each other they reasoned. As long as her scouts acted the part, they were free to spy on Loghain's encampment and tally the number and composition of men.

As for the darkspawn, their horde was spread out in numerous warbands throughout the southern edge of the Wilds. It was difficult to estimate their numbers, but most guesses hovered around twenty thousand warriors. From all the descriptions, these darkspawn soldiers were almost vermin in their destructive quest for food. Trails of fire and devastation crisscrossed the forests, leaving ugly scars on the untamed wilderness. The only thing that her scouts couldn't find was where these darkspawn were keeping their siege engines. The disorganization in the darkspawn's horde was so great that it was impossible to determine where overall command was being exercised. Only the magic-wielding emissaries seem to be capable of issuing orders, but no other creature with command authority had been spotted. It was hard to decipher how close the darkspawn were to attacking King Cailan's army.

Jack had kept herself busy as well. After her little jaunt in the Wilds and her meeting with Flemeth and Morrigan, she wasn't able to leave the camp again. It wasn't as if someone forbade her to leave, but every time she tried to step her foot outside, something would always come up. She had a sneaking suspicion General Kolgrim was determined to treat Jack like porcelain. Hey, she wasn't that fragile!

With nothing else to do, the biotic cult leader spent her time in relative boredom inspecting the men and practicing her horsemanship, often accompanied by her new bodyguards Paedan and Shaevra. At least she was able to steer Normandy in the right direction now. All that she needed to master was to make the damn horse stop at her command. That proved quite difficult as the spirited horse resented standing still. In that, her mount mimicked his master. The animal didn't have to pour his frustrations onto Jack though. The last time Normandy kicked his master off her saddle, she needed a health potion to ease the bump on her head.

Despite the tranquility, the time for battle slowly drew close. At the next evening briefing, Jack finally received the news.

"The darkspawn horde is moving to attack. Their warbands are converging together in a giant horde, which is moving northwards at a slow but steady pace. It will be less than two more days before they arrive in front of the gates of Ostagar."

"Scout-Lieutenant Barton," Captain Farla inquired the scout leader. "Have you or your men sighted their siege engines?"

"Not as yet, captain. The darkspawn horde is still too dispersed to risk a closer look. We can only glean a little from their general movements and outer deployments. What they are hiding in the center of their formation is anyone's guess."

"This behavior is consistent with previous darkspawn raids." Captain Rodney of the Eastfrost Lancers mused. "Their leaders need to have the siege engines close at hand, supposedly because they need to exert tighter control on the units who operate the machines."

From all the stories Jack had heard about Rodney, the nobleman used to be a notorious skirt chaser and had difficulty holding his coins together. She was curious whether he still retained those vices after he had been converted.

At the very least, she could still identify an element of bluster in his confident tone. "Their chaos is nothing but a sign of their disunity. It will be easy to misdirect them for our own gain."

Most of those assembled were not as confident as the cavalry captain. Kolgrim's own protégé – Captain Sokor of the Prime Reavers – retorted first. "That's easy for you to say, since you can just ride away with your pretty horses if things don't go your way. Our footsoldiers can't disentangle themselves from the enemy that easily."

"Are you suggestion that my men are cowards?" Rodney accused as he puffed up his chest. His contempt for Captain Sokor had grown to a new low.

"Fall back!" General Kolgrim sternly intervened. "This discussion is pointless. Let us focus on the matter at hand." He tapped his gauntleted finger on the battle map in the center of the circular table. "Now, as I was saying, we will be attacking Loghain's forces in their flank or rear. If everything goes according to plan, we will be out of the battle before the darkspawn reaches our lines."

The plan was something that they had discussed for ages. It was the least they could do when they sat on their asses for two weeks. All the really technical arguments passed over Jack's head, but she knew enough of fighting to have a say in the proceedings.

While Ostagar was a defensible position, it was not the bulwark it used to be in its prime. The outer walls were completely decayed, and the inner defenses might as well be air. Only its prodigious height and the abundance of choke points gave Loghain's forces a chance of beating back the darkspawn. Besides that, the entire outer perimeter was completely bereft of cover or obstacles.

Therein lay the key to defeating the Fereldens. With their entire defenses directed to the south, they would not expect an attack from the rear. The sight of another human faction fighting _with _the darkspawn should be enough of a shock factor to spark a panic. At least that was what everyone was hoping for. At worst, Loghain would have to direct more men to defend the rear, leaving fewer reserves able to shore up the front. Hopefully the Ferelden's casualties would be high.

"There is another matter of some urgency I need to mention." The scout lieutenant added. "Loghain's army is rearranging itself in an unusual pattern. It… I cannot describe it. You will have to see for yourselves." With a trembling finger, he retrieved a folded map from his pocket.

Jack snatched the creased paper and unfolded it to find a sketch of troop positions. The acronyms and jargon meant nothing to her, but she could see as plain as day that there were far more Xs positioned behind Ostagar than what actually defended the front entrance. She passed the paper to Kolgrim and the rest to let them take a look. "What does it mean?"

"It means," Her general murmured, "That the teyrn does not intend to use the ruins of Ostagar as a defensive position."

A quick discussion flew back and forth between the officers. Jack just laid back and took a sip from her wine goblet. The brainy officers quickly reached a consensus.

"It's the most likely explanation." Kolgrim concluded, pointing at the openings that the split formation created. "Abandoning the fortress would render their siege engines ineffective. The small formation of infantrymen positioned in this lower chokepoint is likely meant to funnel the darkspawn into a narrow passage and block their charge. In other words, they act as an anvil for the creatures to blunt their attacks on. Loghain's remaining footsoldiers positioned on the high ground can then circle around and use the declining slope to their advantage. I can image that his infantry will charge down the hill to hammer the unaware darkspawn from their flanks. It's a high risk strategem. However, if successful, the shock and encirclement might break the backs of the entire darkspawn horde. It seems likely that Teyrn Loghain is aiming to annihilate the entire horde."

"Well, Loghain just made our task easier. We can just attack one of his flanks and roll them up like a carpet!" Rodney suggested confidently as he pointed his finger towards Loghain's western pincer.

"It's not that easy." Sokor said as he gestured towards the small mass of cavalry positioned at the edge of the eastern forest. The mounted knights had a direct path to the pass below and could with some effort flank around to reinforce the two pincer formation instead. "Their cavalry can counter-charge our forces while we are engaged, turning our ambush around."

Captain Farla nodded, analyzing the situation in an acher's point of view. "The main Ferelden thrusts will march through thick forest cover. Our arrows won't have much effect until they are back out into the open."

"So what do we do?" Jack asked to no one in particular as she puzzled over the complex maneuvering. She got the gist of the discussion. The Fereldens wouldn't hole up in Ostagar as they had expected. Instead they were doing some aggressive moves that spread out their army over a larger territory. While they would be more dispersed, their enhanced mobility would allow them to turn the tables on both the darkspawn and her forces much more quickly than they had all anticipated.

"Obviously we can't just pick an angle to attack from and expect everything to fall in our laps."

They argued about it for the rest of the afternoon. The only thing they could all agree on was that they needed to intercept one of the two branches that acted as the hammers of the main Ferelden army. With one hammer out of commission, the other hammer would have a reduced impact on the darkspawn. Meanwhile, the center anvil formation would not get the relief it would be hoping for and crumble away quickly. But the question was how to stop a column of about six thousand men-at-arms with an army of just fifteen hundred? In addition, King Cailan's combined cavalry company would be waiting to pounce on any unexpected developments. Repelling a mounted charge of three hundred knights was very difficult even though cavalry was something of a joke in Ferelden.

As the meeting adjourned and everyone went off to have supper, there was still no good plan to deal with the changes in formation. This Loghain fellow seemed to have unintentionally minimized his army's openings against any surprise attack. Even with the might of the infected upon them, the King's most trusted man might still be able to beat the darkspawn back while repelling Jack's reavers at the same time. There were simply no obvious vulnerabilities to exploit, not with such a high disparity in numbers.

'_What I really need is to work together with the darkspawn. If we could just coordinate – heck, – if the fucking darkspawn would just stop charging straight ahead into a trap, we can fuck up Cailan's army for good.'_

They hadn't managed to come up with a plan after supper either. Loghain's formation was just too robust. It was like the guy had an ingrained habit of minimizing unexpected events. His troops followed their orders to the letter. None of them were undisciplined enough to leave a hole in their defenses.

The next day didn't bring any reprieve despite updated reports on troop movements. The teyrn was keeping a tight lip over his final troop movements, though he did start evacuating the fortress.

It took another night for the darkspawn to begin their final approach. The Battle of Ostagar was about to start.

* * *

In its heyday, Ostagar stood as a proud monument at the edge of civilization. In a time when the Tevinter Imperium ruled virtually all of Thedas, the fortress symbolized the border that kept out the Chasind barbarians. Strategically positioned over a narrow pass, it guarded the entrance to the rest of Ferelden, and from there, the rest of the world. No sizable army could go around it, only through it. Its proud arches and tall architecture bespoke of ancient wealth and power. Though fallen, remnants of its former glory still remained due to lingering Tevinter enchantments. Throughout the nine ages of man many of its formidable defenses had crumbled. Still, even the rubble presented a formidable obstruction to any interloper that tried to bull through. A ruin it may be, an obstacle remained an obstacle.

Amongst its decaying walls and fallen buildings, the Tower of Ishal stood out like a tree over a hill of hedges. The white-washed structure showed none of the decay that marred its siblings. Most of its walls were solid, and no major gaps had emerged on its venerable surface. Its continued defiance against the forces of nature and man represented the finest of Tevinter architecture. The Imperium still endured within each independent country even after they had been repelled. From their language, to their script, to the use of magic, much of modern Ferelden were merely offshoots from greatest civilization known on Thedas. It was a testament of greatness that this tower named after a long-forgotten Archon was never equaled again by the successor state that inherited these lands.

The young witch known as Morrigan sat atop one of the pillars cresting the crown of the tower. With child-like interest she gazed down upon the thousands of men and women moving in orderly ranks and columns. Drums, trumpets and screams orchestrated the movement of these precise clockworks. It was incredibly interesting how these common soldiers rid themselves of their emotions on this crucial time. There were no tears, no fits of fright nor any last farewells. No, they just surrendered themselves to their puppet masters. They were men no more.

A presence appeared beside the beautiful woman.

"Ah, mother, I was wondering whether you would come."

The eagle transformed itself into the shape of an old and ugly crone. Flemeth turned to her daughter and frowned. "It seems you've chosen a rather exposed location to view the coming fight."

"Did you come here to hold my hand so I wouldn't fall? Oh how very protective of you."

"Do not mock me, child."

Morrigan brushed off Flemeth's glare. "I'll only do that when you stop making fun of my maturity. I'm hardly a child anymore you know. I have every right to be here."

"Is that so?" The elder witch smirked. "Well then, seeming as you are so _eager_ to show your independence, I can leave my task to you."

"And what would that be, oh gentle mother?"

As the two witches bickered on top of the tower, the armies below were finishing their preparations. Loghain's forces had left Ostagar and started to branch out in two, spreading deep into the woods and out of sight from the approaching darkspawn. The Grey Warden contingent started to mass down below in the valley that served as a chokepoint to block the darkspawn's approach.

The warden's distinct blue markings stood out brightly against the more utilitarian Ferelden uniforms. Loghain's forces could aptly be described as an army of many. The Grey Wardens on the other hand was an army of one. Their banners also only depicted a single crest: a stylized griffin. They were singular in purpose and renowned in their accomplishments. To them, the Fifth Blight had come, and this was to be the time they would do what they had dedicated their entire lives.

But not at this moment. At the very front of the formation, Riordan watched grimly as Loghain's forces retreated into the woods. Supposedly to flank the darkspawn. But the Wardens knew better. The Ferelden nobility aimed to finish the treachery they started with Duncan's assassination. Well, the Wardens were nobody's fools. He turned to the mage waiting besides him.

"Guillard, have you confirmed it?"

The thin elven mage looked back at his superior with a stoic expression. He spoke with the remnants of an Orlesian accent. "Nothing can be confirmed, least of all what you've asked. But my spirit tells me that our worst suspicions might very well come true."

That corroborated everything the scouts had seen with their own two eyes. The troop formations were moving too far away from Ostagar to come to the Grey Warden's aid in time. They had no intention of relieving Riordan's men. Instead it became clear that they arranged themselves to be as far away as possible. The cavalry waiting to the northeast were also positioned oddly. If they charged down the hill, they wouldn't be able to reach the darkspawn directly. They were however most conveniently in place to trample over the Wardens' unprotected rear. If the letter from Eastfrost hadn't warned them of Loghain's possible treachery, then Riordan would have never recognized the signs. Duncan's death, though grievous as it may be, had given the rest of his men the warning they needed most. The Orlesian bowed his head in gratitude and remembrance to his former comrade.

Lightning crackled overhead. The wind howled through the ruins, chilling the Grey Wardens even as they waited in anticipation. The mabari hounds in their midst began to bark at the growing smell of rot. A chantry sister walked amongst them chanting verses.

"The plan will work." Riordan said, though his voice lacked in certainty. "The Blight may not end this day, but we will survive."

"For Duncan!" Someone in their midst had shouted.

"FOR DUNCAN!" The rest of them shouted in turn.

The front elements of the horde replied with their own mindless roar. Their thunderous cries echoed throughout the valley and penetrated well into the forest.

Even amongst the cavalry at the rear of the battlefield, Cailan could not suppress a chill as he saw the growing mob of torchlight move closer.

"Steel yourself, boy." Teyrn Loghain advised as he held a protective gauntlet over his charge's shoulder. "We have tactics and the terrain on our side. You _will_ keep your Ferelden throne."

The king looked less than reassured. His apprehensive movements were beginning to worry everyone around him.

"I know Loghain, it's just.. ugh, Duncan guided me after my father died, you know? He was my friend. I just can't wrap my head around his motives. He's a Ferelden. He wouldn't betray his own country, would he?"

"If there is anything I learned from the Orlesian occupation, it's that there are always enough Fereldens who are low enough to sell out their own country." The teyrn shook his head at Cailan's naïve perspective. Will the boy ever learn?

"These aren't the Grey Wardens from your fanciful stories, your majesty. They're Orlesian scum, all of them. Even Duncan spent most of his Grey Warden days in Orlais himself. Just admit it, he's a frog lover."

The boy didn't argue any further, which suited the teyrn just fine. As long as king didn't actively oppose the plan to crush the Grey Wardens, those traitors would be out of the way eventually. Ferelden didn't need the Grey Warden's help to kick off a few unruly darkspawn off their lands. He had no patience either with their cryptic warnings and vague allusions to Archdemons.

A trumpet sounded out.

"That's the first signal." Loghain helpfully pointed out. The lazy boy still hadn't learned all the patterns yet. "The Grey Wardens will start to fire their arrows towards the enemy vanguard."

And indeed, just as planned the small contingent of archers rained fire arrows upon the horde of approaching darkspawn. The first casualties began to fall. The terrible creatures didn't let the strike go unpunished and fired back their own volley of poisoned projectiles.

Only to land upon nothing.

"What in the Fade?" The teyrn of Gwaren sputtered as he snatched an eyeglass from a nearby lieutenant. He stood up from the stirrups of his horse in order to get a better look from his vantage point overlooking the valley. "No.. this cannot be.. this wasn't part of the plan!"

Surely enough, the Grey Wardens were doing nothing like they were supposed to do. The plan was for the Wardens to bottleneck the valley. Their steady retreat under fire had not been mentioned in any consideration, but that was exactly what the Wardens were doing. They continued to fire back sporadically at the pursuing darkspawn lines, but the arrows only goaded the monsters into following them through the pass.

"By Andraste! Cauthrien, signal those damned Wardens to stand ground. Use trumpets, banners, send out a rider if you have to, but tell them to halt!"

"Very well my liege!" The knight complied as she hurriedly went out her way to pass the orders.

Even as the trumpets continued to holler the same pattern of notes, the Grey Wardens didn't show any signs of dropping their act. They were leading the darkspawn straight through the valley underneath the bridges of Ostagar. Their intentions quickly became clear.

"By Maric.. the Wardens are leading the darkspawn to us!"

Sure enough, once the blue warriors left the valley they slanted to the east, straight towards the cavalry reserves Cailan and Loghain were part of. Though the Wardens had to march a long amount of distance uphill, they didn't show any signs of tiring.

"I knew this was a mistake!" Cailan said, his doubts coming back to the fore. "We shouldn't have plotted to betray the Grey Wardens. We should be fighting at their side!"

In an of what Loghain thought was pure stupidity, the king reared his horse and unsheathed his sword. "Charge on my mark, knights! For Ferel—"

—but was cut off when Loghain slugged him in the face. The adolescent monarch didn't have a chance and collapsed backwards on his saddle. His bodyguards quickly moved to stabilize his woozy body. Still, despite the obvious assault, none of them dared to draw their sword at the powerful warmaster.

His stare bore down sharply at the royal guards. "The boy seems to be ill. Bring him back to the camp and keep him sedated. There is no point worrying His Majesty of the outcome of this battle."

The guards didn't acknowledge the general's command, but they did what he asked of them.

As the guards gently guided Cailan's horse from the front, Loghain looked contemptuously at the approaching mob of Wardens with the Horde at their heels. He had to admit that the Grey Wardens had outplayed him. To turn his ambush right back around him took guts.

There were only a couple of minor problems with that plan though. First, the Wardens were marching their way uphill. At this pace and with a significant amount of armor weighing them down they would barely reach the cavalry at the top. Second, Loghain and his riders had no obligation to stand around and wait for the Wardens to sucker punch him. Loghain could avoid most of the harm if he simply pulled back his cavalry beyond the reach of the Wardens. It would be child's play to outrun a man on horseback, Wardens or no. Still, it was not an ideal.

While the Grey Wardens would eventually tire and be consumed, it would still leave the horde intact, much of them ready to occupy the high ground, or worse, Ostagar itself. It would be difficult to coordinate his two major infantry formations to strike at the darkspawn without suffering the same disadvantages of charging uphill.

Yet, with the darkspawn pouring out of the valley, most of the advantages of fighting them at Ostagar were moot. If he was smart, he would have pulled back all his troops and let the Grey Wardens fend for themselves.

Perhaps he would do so… _'Yes.. I can't believe the Wardens would assume I would stand and fight. Let the darkspawn rampage for a while if that is what it takes to wipe out you infernal scum.'_

He motioned for Cauthrien to pass along another command. "Sound the retreat. We're not giving the Wardens what they want."

"But milord, if we run, we'll have to abandon our supplies and leave the countryside to fend for themselves."

"Do not question me!" He snapped and squeezed Cauthrien's hand. "Now go!"

She nodded cautiously, then turned back to signal the trumpeters to sound the retreat. But before she could do so, a commotion erupted on the far side of the battlefield, towards the western flank. The camouflaged signal flags Loghain had setup atop the trees began to wave frantically.

"What is it now?" The man hissed angrily as he brought up his telescope to read the pattern of the banners.

Everyone stood silently while the teyrn interpreted the signals. Those who carried mechanical or magical eyeglasses tried to peer through the thick of the forest in order to figure out what was going on, but they had little luck penetrating the foliage.

"What are your orders, ser?" An officer asked, already apprehensive at the huge horde storming towards them.

Loghain only took a few more seconds to make his decision. "Our western flank has been.. outflanked somehow. A retreat would turn half of our forces into easy pickings. We won't be able to retreat unless we're prepared to sacrifice half our troops. For better or worse, we have to attack. Signal the western flank to hold and the eastern flank to come around. We have to consolidate our forces or we won't stand a chance against the darkspawn."

"What about our cavalry, milord?"

The teyrn withdrew his sword and held it out. His iron gaze swept over his assembled riders. They might not be as invincible as the fabled Orlesian chevaliers, but these hardened Fereldens were nothing to scoff at. They all held their lances ready. Despite the setbacks, everyone looked eager to battle. Loghain nodded in approval and turned his mount back towards the enemy. The Grey Wardens were making good speed staying ahead of the darkspawn tide, but they would run out of breath soon enough. Still, the warmaster didn't want to rely on luck. He had to make sure the Grey Wardens would fall. He would make Ostagar their graveyard.

With his heart set upon this course, he rallied his men. "Men, we have been betrayed. The Grey Wardens were tasked to guard the pass and block the darkspawn from spilling out into our heartland. Instead, they _run_ like cowards, leading the infernal beasts right to us. Will you let their cowardice stand?"

"NO!"

"Will you let them destroy your homes?"

"NO!"

"Will you let them rape your wives?"

"NO!"

"Will you let them ruin your country?"

"NOOO!"

"Then charge! FOR FERELDEN!" He called out with his booming voice, a thousand times more thunderous than the pup's petty warcry.

"**FOR FERELDEN!"** The inspired knights echoed as they began to charge down the hill and right into the exhausted formation of Wardens. They would pay them back for their crimes.

* * *

The battle did not unfold the way they had expected. From a distance, the Ferelden's disposition had been clear. The Grey Wardens would bottle up the darkspawn while the pincers would move to flank and annihilate the foul-smelling creatures. Instead, it seemed the Wardens had abandoned their duty and let the darkspawn spill right out of the pass and into open ground.

"It seems our gamble with the forged missives has paid off." Father Eirik muttered. "Though it seems to have turned the battle into chaos. What are your orders, milady Andraste?"

Jack sat atop her unruly destrier overlooking a portion of the battlefield. So far they hadn't been spotted yet by both the Fereldens and the darkspawn, but that could rapidly change. She peered as much as she could with her enchanted quartz eyeglass, but her vision suddenly jerked as Normandy neighed in restlessness.

"Stay still you dick." And she knocked her horse on the head, which succeeded in silencing him for the moment.

"Your orders, milady?"

"The fuck should I know? Ask Kolgrim."

The general withdrew his eyeglass and eyed his forces. "I am.. uncertain. If we proceed with the original plan, we may be able to hold up the western pincer, but we will still be outnumbered four-to-one. With the added chaos of roaming darkspawn, there is a higher chance that our escape might be cut off. That might prove disastrous for our forces."

Captain Rodney disagreed. "Pah, we are the chosen of Andraste! If the darkspawn get in our way, we'll just smash them aside. My Eastfrost Lancers can bull through anything."

Heavy cavalry could indeed smash through anything, provided they had the luxury to build up their momentum.

"Not if the darkspawn surround us." Captain Sokor shot back. "You need plenty of space to build up a decent charge."

The two rivals glared intensely at each other. Their animosity towards each other had grown like wildfire ever since the merger of their armies. Rodney commanded one of the most elite mounted units of Eastfrost, while Sokor led the most veteran contingent of reavers. The two units battled fiercely for the honor of becoming Andraste's favorites.

But, as usual, Jack didn't care. She just threw a dirty look at both that instantly ceased their power struggle. "Enough squabbling. I want to hear options, realistic ones this time."

She pounded her fist against the neck of her mount, which provoked an indignant neigh from the animal. Jack hissed at the dumb beast, warning it to stay quiet.

"Well, milady, I don't see how we need to change our battle plan." Farla said. The archer captain held out the map of Ostagar's surroundings and pointed to the Ferelden disposition. "The only way Loghain will come out of this battle victorious if he manages to either contain the darkspawn or push them back from a united front. But the way I see it the darkspawn will be too stretched out by the time the Ferelden infantry will be able to envelop them. He has no choice but to merge his split up infantry formations together and possibly make a fighting retreat if there are more darkspawn than expected."

The others looked thoughtfully at Farla's analysis. Kolgrim nodded in agreement. "That is a sound – if dangerous – assumption. If we are meaning to let the darkspawn win, then we must prevent Loghain's infantry from linking up or complete their envelopment. Either of those can be stopped if we distract the western flank. The only issues we have to consider is how long we have to delay them and how to extract ourselves from the engagement. I think it is best to redirect our forces to attack from the north. This will push their western flank back from linking up with the eastern flank and—"

"Stop shaking you stupid idiot!" Jack exploded as Normandy grew more agitated in his desire to lash out.

The sound of marching armies and the smell of decaying darkspawn all called out to his violent nature. From birth, the warhorse had been trained for war, and was well acquainted with the smell of hurlocks. His trainers had done their best associating the smell with battle. Too well in this case.

The horse stamped the ground with his hooves while Jack aggressively tried to rein him in. Paedan moved to calm the mount but the horse's aggressive butting knocked him back.

"That's it, I've had it with you. Can someone please—" But Jack didn't get to finish as the dumb mount reared back in defiance, almost shoving his rider from his back were it not for the extra straps. As soon as the horse lowered his forelegs, Normandy bolted forward, eager to join the battle ahead.

"No! Lady Andraste!"

"What do we do now?"

"We attack as planned." Kolgrim decided quickly. He wanted to go after Andraste immediately but it was more important to direct her army first. "Rodney, rejoin your riders and try to catch up to Andraste. If you don't manage to reach her in time, then do your best to open a wedge. Now go!"

For once, the arrogant captain didn't argue and was already moving to his riders, ordering them to go after Jack immediately.

"Sokor, go after Rodney's lancers and reinforce them if they become entangled in enemy lines. No arguing, now march! Farla, Eirik, march your archers and mages to the designated position and provide support. Oh, and Eirik, send your best enchanter to the front alongside Sokor's reavers and have him cast protections over our lady. Guard-Captain Coster, take up the rear guard."

"What about the rest?"

"I'll lead the main element myself." Kolgrim answered. "Now move out. To battle! For the Risen Andraste!"

"For the Risen Andraste!" The reavers cried as they joined their lady into battle.

* * *

**End Notes: **We'll see how the battle unfolds.


End file.
